


The Darkest Words

by HeironymousPosh



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Occult, Other, Terror and Madness!, The Hamlet, The Ruins - Freeform, Violence, and still a heiress, as well as Flagellants, dark places, dark words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeironymousPosh/pseuds/HeironymousPosh
Summary: A madman appears on the moor. Lit candles and distant whispers haunt the empty ruins. Dark words have come to haunt the living, and respite as become a distant memory thanks to a new, unforeseen threat.Katherine Adelbard has seen her faith tested many times; after all, a vestal must become acquainted with suffering to be able to assuage and prevent it. Tauros seemed at first like just another challenge. Katherine's tests have only just begun, however, as she faces a false prophet the likes of which she has never encountered. Part 3 of a Series.





	1. Of All the Foul Tongues

The chirurgeons entered without so much as a knock. Katherine Adelbard, still not completely dressed, was shocked, and hastened to throw her vestments on as three people - a chubby older woman, a skinny and hassled-looking younger woman, and a man dressed in what appeared to be a butcher’s apron - entered the room.

“How are you feeling?” the skinny woman asked. She sounded completely disinterested in Katherine’s actual state of being, and just wanted to check another work duty off of her list.

“Better,” Katherine replied, involuntarily running her hand down her right flank from breast to hip. The fractures had virtually healed, thanks in no small part to Herod’s work, and she could walk now without any sort of pain.

“I’d like you to answer a few questions,” the skinny woman said. She rattled off a list of queries: _how does it feel when walking_ , _how does it feel when eating_ , _do you have any pain_ , _do you have any discomfort_ , _have you had adverse reactions to treatment_ , and on and on. Katherine answered each one of them in turn, wondering if she would be satisfied.

After about ten minutes, the assembled chirurgeons were finally satisfied and opened the door.

“You look like you’re in good shape, Miss Adelbard,” the chubby woman said, with a faint smile. “You’re free to leave.

Katherine thanked them and promptly made for the front door. She wanted fresh air, even if it was gloomy and rainy outside, and she wanted to return to the abbey. She had been cooped up in the recovery ward for several days and she wanted _out_ , to go and be free-

She had almost reached the front door when it burst open, admitting at least four well-armed men and a fifth man, held by the others, who was babbling incoherently and struggling against his captors. In spite of their combined efforts, the four adventurers were clearly having a difficult time restraining their captive, as in his maddened state he was writhing with all his available might to get free.

“Get us some restraints!” one of them howled, his gloved hands latched around the raving man’s left arm. The captors were all well-armed and armored, and looked to be local guardsmen but outfitted with finer gear than most. And behind them, a familiar face appeared, moving out of the rain and mist outside and pushing past the men to get into the hospital.

“Herod?” Katherine asked. The soldiers reiterated their call for restraints, and she could hear heavy footfalls from behind her, as chirurgeons came to their assistance.

“Katherine, we have a bit of a problem,” Herod said, and pointed to the captive. “Him.”

“I can see that-”

“No time for talking,” Herod interrupted her. He moved past her as chirurgeons, bearing ropes and leather restraints, moved in the other direction and came to the assistance of the struggling soldiers.

The man’s eyes were wild with a strange, vibrant sort of life, and his hair was matted and greasy. He was unkempt, unshaven, and he smelled like mold and decay. His clothing was ragged, as though it had been submitted to the mercy of the elements for months on end, and the shoes he wore were on the brink of dissolution. He looked like a beggar, but Katherine had a gut feeling that he was anything but a lowly wretch of the street.

The chirurgeons bound him up, using the leather restraints to restrain his arms to his body, and forced him down the hallway. All the while, he chattered nonsense that Katherine could not catch; his words were understandable, words in the common tongue, but he babbled so relentlessly and with such haste that she could not string any of his words into a coherent sentence. She decided, after a few seconds of waiting and a glance at the disgruntled soldiers, that she should go find where Herod ran off to and see what he knew.

The howls and shrieks of the madman resounded through the empty halls of the hospital, allowing Katherine to follow them towards their source. Within minutes, she reached a spiral staircase of wrought iron, leading down into the earth and into the sanitarium. Separated from the hospital wards, the sanitarium was a dark and dingy realm where the only light that could be found came from primitive torches lining the walls. The cells were meagre and cramped and smelled of ripe earth, and the hallways were uncomfortably narrow. Perhaps her memories of the place, from an earlier visit borne of curiosity, were tainted by the discomfort she had felt on her initial tour. But she pressed on in pursuit of her curious quarry, passing disgruntled-looking aides and queerly-dressed attendants as she made her way towards the screams.

The cell was now locked and barred, but Herod stood on the outside, looking in through a thin set of rusty iron bars. The maniac continued to cry and shout, clearly struggling, but the new restraints that the sanitarium attendants had introduced were working well. Herod was visibly tensed, and jumped a little at Katherine’s gentle tap on his shoulder.

“Oh. Hello.” He greeted her in his usual brusque tone.

“Busy day already, huh?”

“You said it,” he mused, watching the captive grow quiet. The madman searched the bare room around him with wild, haunted eyes. His very visage unnerved her, his eyes appearing sottered, peering back into the bars. The man was quieter now, though he was whispering to himself and something about him was fundamentally... _off_.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Don’t know if I can say much,” Herod said. “They brought him to me.”

“The soldiers?”

“Guards on patrol,” he said. “They found him like this. Unarmed, but dangerous.”

“No weapon at all?”

“None that they found.”

Katherine peered in again and watched as the sanitarium assistants prepared some sort of solution, mixing two vials of different-colored liquid together and combining them with precision and care. One of the assistants glanced at the two of them and frowned, but said nothing about their presence at the door. Katherine felt dirty for watching, and momentarily withdrew.

“No idea what’s wrong with him?” she asked him.

Herod shook his head.

“I can’t imagine what’s wrong,” Katherine said, peering in again. The man had stopped struggling but was still whispering and muttering. His wild eyes found her and fixated on her to such a degree that she had to retreat again, out of discomfort.

“He’s simply crazy,” Herod muttered.

“That is never the case,” Katherine retorted. “There is always something else. One does not stray from the Light in such a way...without some great event befalling them.”

“Mmm.”

His response indicated that while he was considerate of her suggestion, he wasn’t taking it seriously at the moment. He was preoccupied, as the man began screaming again and thrashing against his bonds upon seeing the concoction prepared for him.

“You can’t do it! Can’t silence it!” he screamed, raging against the leather that would not give in spite of his frustrated, agonized struggling. “You can’t silence the voice! Can’t! Can’t! Can’t!”

Katherine watched in a curious mixture of interest and horror as assistants rushed to keep him steady, as the chemist with the concoction moved towards him, intent on silencing him.

“What’s he saying?”

“He was babbling like that the whole way down. I barely paid attention,” Herod admitted.

“You should have. This could be useful,” she chastised him.

“Useful?” Herod asked, eyebrows raising.

“It’s not babble. There’s method to his madness,” Katherine said, and knocked on the door. She requested entry, but the assistants were too busy with the man to hear her.

“I’m not sure I agree.”

“ _T_ _here is neither event, nor word, that comes without a grain of reason or a spark of intent. The way the Light intended for the world to be - reasonable, logical, patterned_ ,” Katherine recited. “Chansons. Verse 150,” she added, when Herod gave her the queerest of looks.

“You know I and the faith have disagreements,” Herod said.

“Well, I do,” she replied. “But it guides me and gives me strength. It’s telling me now, that we’re approaching this wrong.”

“You want to try talking to him? Be my guest.”

Irritated by Herod’s nonchalant attitude, she rapped on the door again, and this time drew the attention of one of the assistants. A man in a robe, with a cotton mask draped over his mouth and neck, approached her but did not yet open the door.

“No guests in the sanitarium,” the attendant informed her coldly.

“Could you make a single exception?”

The man paused, and turned back momentarily to face his comrades. They were still struggling to hold the screamer down, and the sedative had not yet been applied.

“No,” the attendant replied after a brief pause. But his firm demeanor was almost instantly shattered when the patient stopped writhing and screamed.

“Let the holy woman through!”

The attendant whipped around to face the patient, who was now straining at his bonds, his chest rising and falling. The madman was staring directly at her, his teeth grit in determination as he stared her down.

“I have...to speak to her.”

Nobody spoke yet. The attendant turned back around to Katherine, and she could see the conflict raging in his eyes. He finally relented, stepping aside and let Katherine enter. Herod remained on the other side of the threshold, watching inquisitively as Katherine approached the bed. The attendants would not let her get too close; one of them held out a hand as if to signal _no closer._ She stopped about two feet from the bed, locking eyes with the madman and wondering what kind of terrible malady had overcome him.

“Holy woman,” the madman breathed, sounding like he was on the verge of death, his voice raspy and strained. His upper lip curled back into an unnerving smile, showing brown and deteriorating teeth.

“What do you want with me?”

“I want nothing,” the madman breathed. “My time has come. But he wants you.”

“Tell me who wants me,” Katherine asked, reaching into her vestments to grasp at her prayer beads. Always at her side, they were a comfort when the darkness began closing in around her.

“The harbinger of the truth. The man who heralds our end,” the man whispered, his voice rife with excitement. “Yours. Mine. All.”

“Who?”

“He has foretold it. My thread is at an end. Yours is about to unravel. Are you ready?”

The man stared at her, and grinned, as if expecting something that would not come. After a few seconds, his smile began to waver, and he hesitated, his eyes now rolling around wildly in his head.

“He told me it was time,” he gasped, and immediately began thrashing again. The attendants rushed to him, sedative in hand, and Katherine took several steps back as the bed began to shake.

“He told me it was time! It was time!”

His voice was hoarse and raspy and he screamed as though hell itself had opened in front of his eyes.

“I want to die!”

“I want to die!”

“I WANT TO DIE!”

His screaming faded away as the sedative took effect, but his limbs continued to thrash wildly for several seconds. By that time Katherine had exited the room, exhausted, her heart pounding threateningly like a primal drum. Herod noticed her condition and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off quickly.

“I’ll be fine. Just shaken.”

She grasped for her prayer beads. Counted them, one by one, as the door closed behind them, the room now basked in silence. _Blessed silence_ , she thought, repeating those terrible words in that terrible tone in her head.

“I think we need to talk about that,” Herod said.

“Not now.”

“No, not yet.”

Katherine moved to leave and Herod followed, casting one last glance behind him as he moved

_I need fresh air. I need to breathe, to get a grip. This is all wrong._

She did not speak to Herod again until they had exited the building. The sun was actually shining for once; a break in the clouds had allowed a few rays to cast themselves onto the pitiful expanse of Tauros laid out in front of them. It was a welcome reward after what had happened mere minutes ago.

“What are you thinking?”

“Not much,” she said. “My thoughts are...scattered, right now,” she expounded.

“I understand.”

“What do you make of it?” she turned and asked him.

Herod seemed to be still puzzling over it, too. Obviously he was not as shaken, but he did not answer immediately, as though trying to piece words together in short order.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s okay.”

“He’s a rabid man,” Herod noted, pulling a handkerchief out of his clothes and wiping his neck and jaw. “But...lucid enough to know what you were.”

“That’s true.”

“And he wanted you, for some reason,” he said.

“Maybe my presence was comforting?” she suggested.

“No, I think not,” he said.

“Why?”

“He wanted to give you a message. Didn’t you hear?”

_To be honest, I wanted to forget that part. That was what disturbed me the most._ The fact that he had singled her out, that _someone_ out there had such a disturbing and twisted message for her…

“I did.”

“It could be madness. Possibly,” Herod mused, picking idly at a few sparse hairs on his chin. “But perhaps you’re right. I don’t think it is madness.”

And so Herod departed, bidding her _farewell_ briefly and quietly. She let him go. Clearly he had to think, clear his head and put his mind to this task.

She had another place on her mind. Where did she always go when she was feeling lost and frightened? The one place that could give her peace, even a bit of it.

_Up the hill I go_.

Tauros passed by in a blur as she walked up to the abbey, but she did not miss out on everything. She heard the gossip as she walked past a group of laborers assembled around a pile of construction materials, passed around in hushed voices that were not quiet enough to escape her.

“One of ours?”

“A whole party of them. Two days ago.”

“And just one came out?”

“That’s what the guardsman said.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“No, I believe him. You know what kind of shit is down there?”

“I heard tell-”

“He said the man was mad beyond repair. Worse than he’d ever seen.”

“He seen a madman before?”

“I don’t know.”

“Down in those ruins, though-”

“Terrible.”

“That poor bastard. Was he new?”

“All of them were fresh. Just a simple task, apparently.”

“Well.”

She quickened her pace and left them behind quickly. She had heard enough, and her stomach was churning painfully.

_Peace. Quiet. Just ten minutes, that’s all I could use._

The abbey was, blessedly, empty. Completely - not even the abbot was around.

_Likely in the back_ , she figured. _Doing what he does best - fretting over pointless and petty things and ignoring what is most pressing._

She sat as close as she could at the front. She liked it there, as near to the altar as she could be, looking directly into the chancel.

For the first time since her hospitalization, she began to reflect on the events of...was it a week ago? Or more? How long had it been again? No longer than a week…

_Well, maybe by a few days._ Time passed differently within the sanitarium, and even the comings and goings of the chirurgeons were not reliable enough to be able to tell time. Things seemed to happen at a slower pace, and Katherine found herself wondering if she had a firm grip on her own head. But she forced herself to quit that kind of thought and focus on what was in front of her now.

_You are in your sanctuary. This is your second home. Be at home, and be at peace._

For now, it worked, and she closed her eyes and began humming to herself as the rain began pounding on the roof once more.


	2. Candles in the Dark

It did not take them long to find the first candle.

Twenty minutes into the expedition, and a mere floor down from the entry level, they found a tiny little nub of wax stuffed haphazardly into a sconce, its flame flickering lazily. The candle was no piece of real craftsmanship; rather, it looked to have been crudely arranged by hands that were unused to any sort of labor, and it had not been made to last. But  _ something  _ had made it, and that gave them all pause.

“I’m sure it’s humans,” Reynauld noted, extinguishing the wick with a pinch of his gloved hand. The light from their torches more than made up for the lost illumination.

“You think so?” Katherine asked. 

“I’m sure of it. Perhaps some brigands, nothing worse,” he replied, flashing her an assuaging smile. She knew he was trying his best to reassure her, but in truth he could only do so much in a place like that.

Katherine had not wanted to go back into the old Lancette estate ruins. But she had no valid excuse not to; after all, she was one of the few people in town who had been into the old estate more than once, and as a member of the clergy her presence was a comfort even to those who did not believe. Reynauld had asked her too, and there was no way you could say  _ no _ to a brother when he called for your aid.

But she had found herself involuntarily quivering as that rotting wooden door had opened, admitting them into the servants’ wing, and only Reynauld’s hand on her shoulder had calmed her nerves at the time. The yawning blackness of that entry hall, the endless span of dark hallways, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps or the occasional, distant rumble of crumbling stone - it was all so dreadful. She was doing her best at the moment, clutching a torch in one hand and her prized book in the other, but ever since stepping foot once more into this wretched domain she had felt nothing but a deep-seated, restless fear that was growing with each passing second.

_ Humans, yes. They do come down here sometimes. Bandits, lone wanderers, seeking loot or shelter...that is the more comfortable option.  _

The more disconcerting option was that the skeletal menaces that roamed these halls had vanished entirely, their once hostile presence replaced with an anxiety-inducing, nefarious silence that was manifesting itself in ways unknown, perhaps physical if it considered it to be necessary. That was a thought that she wanted to immediately discard.

“If we encounter bandits, Lily will know what to do,” said the man behind Katherine. All she knew about him was that his name was Logan, he used to be on the side of the law, and that he had a dog. 

_ Lily is a good girl _ , Katherine thought, comforting herself.  _ She will be a boon to us _ . 

The dog, a stocky and muscular northern breed with a slightly pointed snout and large, sharp ears, seemed unhappy to be in such a dark and dismal place. Nevertheless, she trotted alongside her master, at times turning back to catch a glance of Audrey, dressed in thick leather padding and working pants, following the party as the rearguard. 

“How are you holding up, Katherine?”

Reynauld’s voice was soothing and pulled her away from her fears as they marched on into the gloom.

“Just fine.”

“You sure you’re good?”

“Yes. We can move on.”

She didn’t want to tell him much, lest he figure out that her fear was quickly becoming difficult to deal with. The assault on her mind by her own reservations and concerns was something she did not want others to have to struggle with; it was her battle alone.

“We won’t be going far today. Just doing some mapping,” Reynauld said. 

“And, looting,” Audrey chimed in. Katherine could  _ hear  _ her grin, even though she was behind every one of them. 

“Well, as long as it’s off the books,” Reynauld replied, with a light chuckle. 

_ Don’t encourage her _ , Katherine thought disapprovingly.  _ And don’t follow her down her path. The holy orders would frown on such an activity. I know my Sisters would.  _

They found another candle about fifteen minutes ahead. No skeletons, nothing living at all, but there it sat on the floor. This one was larger, and it flickered with more life than its predecessor. Reynauld was quick to snuff it out, but the look on his face said that he was bemused.

“I have not seen anything like it yet,” he admitted, when Audrey questioned him.

“Don’t think too much of it. I’m sure it’s people,” Audrey said. “People can be killed.”   
“Aye,” said Reynauld. “But I’d rather avoid them if we can.”

_ I don’t want a fight.  _ Katherine was not a fighter, and she was most certainly not willing to go out looking for one. Audrey’s cavalier attitude be damned, picking a fight in a place like the estate was bound to cause trouble.

The third candle was found not five minutes away, resting on a narrow stone platform jutting out from a wall. Judging from the mangled ruins of a tapestry hanging above the platform, it looked like it once held treasures or objects of reverence, but all that was left was the single candle, its flame sputtering its last. Whoever had lit this had done so perhaps hours ago.

_ There’s no pattern to it,  _ Katherine thought, as much frustrated as she was fearful.  _ It’s almost random. Isn’t it, though?  _

“Now that’s an oddity,” Reynauld murmured, hesitating to snuff the candle out. 

“Could be multiple parties of people,” said Logan. 

“Or something other than people,” Audrey suggested. Just the mere suggestion was enough to give Katherine chills.

“Skeletons would not do this. We’ve never seen it before,” Reynauld said. 

“Things change, you know,” Logan pointed out.

“This is different, though,” Reynauld said. “Katherine?”

He turned to her now, as if expecting answers. She had none for him, but she had to try and give something in return.

“If what we’ve seen before is anything to go by,” she began, her eyes fixated on the flickering flame, “then it’s unlikely. The creatures have never shown any tendency towards construction or invention.”

“That’s true,” Reynauld admitted.

“Then they’re human,” Audrey decided.

“But why wouldn’t a human just bring torches?” Logan asked. 

Their thought patterns were all simultaneously interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls coming from further down the hallway. Everyone fell silent, and Reynauld spun towards the sound, both hands reaching for his broadsword on instinct. 

Even Lily was silent as the footfalls drew a few feet closer and then stopped. Katherine heard what sounded like sniffing, but the thing had halted. In the gloom, they could discern nothing; whatever it was was beyond their eyesight, and anything could be concealed by the darkness ahead of them. So Reynauld, being at the head of the party, stepped forward and took the plunge. 

“If you are human, come into the light,” he said, slowly withdrawing his blade from its sheath.

His proposition was immediately returned with a bloodcurdling howl, and a massive shape of muscular flesh charged out of the darkness, racing straight for Reynauld. The crusader, weighed down by his armor, was incapable of dodging and was struck to the floor by the force of the blow. 

The creature that emerged into the torchlight was a hideous beast, perhaps eight feet tall, with features that only barely resembled that of a human. Its sinewy, pale flesh was rippling with muscle, its chest was covered in open sores and blisters, and the skin on its head was so taut that the outlines of the frontal protrusions of the skull could be clearly seen. Its eyes were hollow and lifeless, its teeth were filed to a point as it opened its sharp jaws to snarl at them, and what little hair remained on its head was stringy, greasy, and bereft of life. The creature was terrible, and Katherine was face to face with it.

Lily jumped into the fray without further ado, her jaws latching around the ghoul’s left leg and giving it a distraction, giving Katherine precious time to back away and let Logan approach, studded club in hand. She was in no shape to fight, and had no interest in taking on this beast that Reynauld was still struggling to recover from.

“Katherine, light!” he cried, rolling over against the wall and hauling himself to his feet, broadsword still in hand.

Katherine knew what to do. Going through the motions that she had performed a dozen times before, she raised her mace into the air and uttered the words that illuminated the entire hallway.

The blinding light caused the ghoul to stumble backwards, a bony and ragged arm moving over its eyes to shield its sensitive vision from the light, and gave Reynauld a chance to rise to his feet and reenter the fight. As Lily disengaged, her claws and teeth proving fruitless against the beast’s hardened hide, Reynauld drove his broadsword forward through the ghoul’s muscular shoulder, piercing the flesh and causing the beast to fall back even further and roar in pain. 

The ghoul seemed to be on the precipice of retreat for a moment, but its animalistic instincts prevailed and instead it charged at Reynauld once more, who was more prepared this time. Reynauld raised his blade to block the claw, barely holding off his attacker as the ghoul swiped madly at him. As the creature was fixated primarily on the crusader and was ignoring every other member of the party, Audrey apparently found an opportunity to slip off to the right flank, attempting an ambush on the ghoul. Katherine could do nothing but stand her ground, her knees quaking and her breath ragged, and focus on channeling her thoughts and energy into her mace, which was still illuminating the hallway. 

Reynauld’s distraction paid off. Katherine watched as Audrey, half-concealed by the looming shadows around them, withdrew a dirk from her belt and drove it into a large patch of exposed flesh in the ghoul’s thigh. The ghoul howled and sank to one knee, knocking Audrey aside with a quick and brutal swipe of its arm, but outnumbered and outmaneuvered, its time was up. Reynauld raised his blade up, pointed it downwards towards the floor, and drove it down through the back of the creature’s neck, pushing it all the way through its neck to the front. The ghoul gurgled for a few seconds, its fingers twitched menacingly, and then it collapsed to the floor, foul black blood pulsing out of the gaping wound. 

“Hell, that’s a big one,” Audrey muttered, wiping the blood off of her dirk on a scrap of the creature’s ragged clothing.

“I’ve never seen one like that,” Katherine said. 

“Anyone hurt?” Reynauld asked, looking around. Thankfully, nobody had sustained any significant injuries. Reynauld had the wind knocked out of him, but his heavy armor had protected him from any real damage.

The beast was still menacing even in death. Its massive corpse, sprawled out on the ground, looked like it could rise back from the dead at any second. For the first time, Katherine could smell it too; she caught a whiff of the grave, and of rotten flesh, and turned away to prevent herself from gagging. 

“This is something new,” Reynauld noted, his voice tinted with unease. “We should turn back.”

“Right now?” Audrey asked.

“I think so, for safety’s sake.”

“But what about-”

“There’s no reason to go on. Not until we have a chance to consider this,” Reynauld said, pointing down at the slain beast’s corpse. Nobody complained after that; exasperated and unnerved after the surprise encounter, everyone was content with turning back. Even Audrey, who seemed to be displeased with her lack of loot, fell in line without complaint when they turned around and headed back the way they came. They passed the candles again; one of them had sputtered out but the others were still burning brightly. The presence of light would normally be a pleasant surprise, but the mysterious nature of these candles was still leaving Katherine unnerved. 

_ Very few people enter the ruins _ , she knew.  _ Even fewer venture down below the first floor or two. Who could it be?  _

Sunlight was a welcome gift when they returned. The air was far from fresh - rather, it smelled of loam and the distinctly rotten smell of the weald - but it was better than the stuffy atmosphere of the ancient crypts below their feet. Katherine felt an immediate swell of relief as the door was shut behind them, and they abandoned the ruins for another day.

“We should have tried and retrieve that body,” Logan said. “Is it too late?”

“I’m not carrying  _ that  _ out of there. Be my guest,” Audrey retorted.

“I’d rather not. It wouldn’t serve us much good,” Reynauld said. “And I wouldn’t bring something that unholy back into our sanctuary.”

That reasoning seemed to satisfy the houndmaster, who was now kneeling down into the mud to tend to a minor flesh wound that his pup had sustained. Katherine, for her part, was content to set her mace back into its sling and sit in the grass for a bit as they decamped, enjoying a moment of rest and tranquility after the unprecedented events of their expedition. As Audrey wandered off a bit, admiring the distant edifice of the ruined manor on the crest of the moor, Reynauld approached Katherine and took his helmet off, bearing down on her with concern on his face.

“You feeling alright?” he asked. She waved him off quickly with a smile and reassurance.

“You look pale,” he said, unconvinced. She frowned, and figured it would do no good to lie to him.

_ It never does _ , she thought.  _ The man can figure anything out, given enough time.  _

“Just thinking about those candles,” she admitted. “I’m bothered. You could say that.” 

He nodded his head, as if to say  _ I understand. Me too.  _

“Candles in the dark. Normally not a very interesting thing to think about,” he said. “But in times like these…”

“I want to believe it’s just bandits,” Katherine said, shaking her head. “That’s got to be it, right?”

Reynauld did not respond immediately. She knew that he wasn’t going to lie to her; he would  _ never  _ do that to a sister of the faith. All the same, she desperately wanted the lie, something to assuage her concerns and give her some spark of hope. 

“I don’t know, sister,” he said. “But we’ll figure it out.”

It was better than nothing. He extended a hand, helped her to her feet, and they set back off for Tauros as the sunlight began to grow dim once more. 


	3. Dimly Lit Roads

Katherine awoke with a start to the sound of thunder, immediately following a brilliant flash of lightning. Shaking, covered in sweat, and on the verge of tears, she realized that she must have looked quite pitiful. She regained her composure quickly and decided to stand up and sit at her desk for a little while, any thoughts of returning to sleep now banished.

Her dream had been a wild amalgamation of enigmatic, foreign terrors and familiar places – a horrific play with herself as the central actor. She had found herself running through a labyrinth of stone corridors, pursued by something she could not even conceive of, seeking shelter from an imminent darkness. Strange and foul words had been whispered into her ear throughout, and by the time she had woken up she was shaken to the core.

The storm probably had not helped, either. The clashing tempest, its sound and fury seemingly unmatched by any storm of the preceding days, had been a blessing in that it had finally jolted her awake and out of the nightmare. Yet all the same, its power was discomforting; no regular storm should have so much energy. As lightning continued to flare up in the sky and the rain’s strength waxed and waned as the wind howled, Katherine lit a single small candle at her desk, pulled out her treasured copy of the songs, and began humming to herself as the hours passed and the storm began to pass with them. 

Morning came but she did not feel tired from lack of sleep. Rather, she felt quite ill, and vividly remembered her night terrors which had come without a hint of warning. Desiring fresh air and wishing to see at least a glimpse of sunlight, she put on walking clothes, donned her traditional brown garb, and departed from the keep’s barracks, in hopes of lifting her spirits.

Her hopes were dashed along with the caravel on the shoreline, which she glimpsed immediately from the high ground of the keep. Great planks of oak and cedar wood, much of it splintered and broken down, lay on the beach along with other pieces of assorted detritus. No bodies could be seen, but Katherine knew that such a terrible shipwreck would not be without its casualties. Already, residents of Tauros could be seen on the shoreline peering through the wreckage, seeking either survivors or treasure, and the guards at the keep were assembling as many of their number as they could in order to assist in rescue efforts. 

_ It is that terrible storm _ , she knew.  _ The havoc they can wreak knows no bounds.  _

She decided to turn back around upon seeing the dreadful wreckage. Something was compelling her to speak to one of the only people who might be able to tell her something useful. Distrust him as she might, she knew that he had proved himself capable before, and would do so again.

And so she found herself at the door of Herod the occultist, wondering what her sisters would think of what she was about to do. With the slightest tinge of hesitation wracking her mind, she knocked firmly on the door.

The door swung inward momentarily. Herod, fully dressed and looking as though he were in the middle of something important, took a moment to compose himself and asked her what her business was. He was stern but polite, bearing with him the aura of a professional. That was surprising, given that her assumptions about him had been significantly skewed negative. 

“Of all the people I would have expected-”

“I need to ask you some questions.”

Katherine was brusque and blunt, no time for formalities. Herod did not appear taken aback at all, but led her to a rickety chair and bid her to sit down. He did the same at his own desk, which was covered in scattered papers and odd instruments whose means Katherine could only guess at. 

“Ask away,” he said, folding his arms as he awaited whatever she was to deliver to him.

“I don’t understand this place,” she began. 

“Neither do I,” he retorted.

“But you...you seem to know a bit more...the mystical properties-”

Herod grunted and she could tell that she was walking on a thin rope. Any mistake to either side, and he would send her packing without the words she wanted to hear. So she stopped mid-sentence, readjusting her trajectory, and attempted another approach.

“You’ve studied the world in a way that is different, er, from my own teachings,” she said.

He nodded.  _ A good sign.  _

“This has given you...well, some might call it an edge, over myself and others,” she said. 

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. His arms remained folded but his facial features had softened. 

“I almost envy you.”

Now that caught him off guard. His facial features stiffened and then his lips pursed and his eyebrows rose, as though he were attempting to understand what she had just said.

“Explain,” he asked, after his brief hesitation. Katherine figured there was no point in holding back; she needed some kind of guidance, some sort of help. 

“I don’t understand why things here are the way they are,” she said. 

“And you think that I have the answers?”

“Well, not exactly,” she stammered, choosing her next words carefully. “But…”

“I may be closer to them than you.”

“Yes.”

That was probably the best way to put it. For all her years of instruction at the academy, for all the old liturgical texts of the Brown Sisters of yore that she had spent months memorizing, she was clueless as to what could possibly drive such a great subterranean evil as could be found beneath Tauros. Evil things existed in the world, yes, but in the modern day they were often limited in scope and marginalized to the point of being fairy tales for many. 

Herod sighed and set his arms on the table, as though it were helping him think. Katherine immediately felt a tinge of regret, as her proposition seemed to be troubling him. 

“I wish I had arrived at the answers by now. But the primeval things that slumber beneath this town and beyond may defy human understanding,” Herod explained. 

“I don’t understand,” Katherine said. 

“That’s the point.”

“But then what hope do we have of winning?” she asked. 

“Maybe it’s not about winning.”

That was not the attitude that Katherine wanted. In spite of all her concerns and fears, which weighed on her like lead blocks, she had never considered anything less than victory over the darkness. That was why she and Reynauld came here, no?  _ Brown Sister and holy brother, united in the darkest crusade. _ What was the point otherwise, if not to strive for victory?

“I know that was bleak,” Herod admitted. “But the powers we face are far beyond what any living man can hope to survive.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because what we’ve seen so far,” Herod explained, “is only a fraction of the power they can command.”

Katherine was growing disconcerted but decided to let him continue. To cut him off before he reached his point would be rude, and would defeat the purpose of her visit.

“The creatures we have faced, for better or for worse, have been felled but only through great struggle,” said Herod. “The powers they commanded represent perhaps a tenth of what can be channeled by the greater evils that are waking.”

“Waking?”

Herod winced, as though he was loathe to discuss it further, but he pressed on anyway.

“The evil here is waking up. Day by day, it grows more aware, more active, and hungers for blood,” he said. “I can sense it. It senses all of us, too. We must step up our efforts in turn.”

_ This isn’t making me any more comfortable...but I suppose that wasn’t the point, was it? Guess I should’ve made an attempt to be more aware of that.  _ She had no further questions, as anything else might ruin the rest of the day for her. She quietly thanked Herod for his assistance.

“I’m happy to be of help. I try,” was all he said before he bid her goodbye, and she departed without further word. She had to take a few moments to collect herself, normalize her breathing, and banish any dark thoughts from her mind before moving on. 

But the more she walked, the more she thought, and the more she thought, the more determined she became to  _ do  _ something about it.  _ There’s no point in turning to the scripture and cowering in the corner _ ,  _ then, _ she thought, thinking about what the Katherine of yesterday did and would have done.  _ We cannot be passive. We must take charge _ . 

She knew that Reynauld would say the exact same thing to her, even if he made his tone more comforting. He was a man of action, a doer and a leader, and he would expect her to follow in the same path.  _ So why shouldn’t I?  _

And so she began to formulate a plan, bit by bit, piece by piece, trying to be proactive about a situation that was becoming clearer and clearer to her. Victory would not come easily, that was certain, but she had disdain for Herod’s seemingly pessimistic outlook. Victory  _ could  _ come, and it would, if they were determined and had a plan. And that was exactly what she was trying to do.

She stopped first at Reynauld’s room, but found nobody there. Upon inquiring with a few of the keep’s guards, she learned that he had been sent out with a few others to help a scouting party in the weald retrieve a cache of survival supplies that had been found buried in the underbrush. So she decided to ask the next best thing, if anyone considered Dismas to be “best” at anything. 

Dismas  _ did  _ answer her knock at the door, but did not seem too pleased to be receiving a visitor. Nevertheless, he remained when Katherine began talking to him, and seemed to be listening as she went on.

“After the last expedition, I can’t stand by and passively react to what may come next,” she explained, desperately hoping that he was seeing some degree of sense in her words. “We have to act.”

“And what do you propose?” he asked when she finished, the first words he had spoken since opening the door to her.

“We delve into the ruins. Seek out whatever else might be down there. Explore, map, and venture to the ends of that manor,” she returned. 

“That’s surprising, coming from you,” he muttered. “You hate that place.”

_ You’re not wrong _ , she thought,  _ but that shouldn’t stop me. I am no coward.  _

“It’s what needs to be done,” she said, and received a surprising murmur of agreement. 

“Better than sitting around waiting for orders,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

He had no more to say to her, unfortunately, but it was a better reception than she had been expecting. Seeing as he was probably hungover from last night’s frolicking, she was just glad he had been awake. 

Her next stop was a bit of an unorthodox one, but for some reason Katherine had some faith in Audrey the self-professed “grave robber”. Her first impressions of Audrey had been negative, understandably so. Thievery, particularly of her sort, had been condemned roundly in the texts at the academy, and Katherine had a difficult time understanding why she had been allowed to join the Tauros roster when her past was so  _ criminal _ . Yet Audrey had proven herself willing to take part in expeditions and had even stayed her hand from excessive looting several times - although she was known to seize small trinkets for personal gain - which had impressed Katherine. Coupled with the fact that Audrey had been witness to the strange phenomenon that they had experienced in the ruins previously, it was enough to persuade Katherine to pay her a visit.

Audrey was not in her room, but was not far from it either. As Katherine was walking back out of the keep, desperate for a bit of fresh air once more, she chanced upon the grave robber returning from what she could only assume was a night of sexual debauchery. 

Audrey’s hair was disheveled and her clothing looked as though it had been tossed on without any second thoughts. She seemed to be in a good mood, and greeted Katherine with a broad smile and a cheerful  _ morning! _ as the two met. 

“I was hoping to find you. I need to talk with you briefly,” Katherine said. 

“Oh, you sound determined,” Audrey noted, absentmindedly fixing her messy hair as she rooted herself in place to listen to Katherine. Katherine gave her the same spiel that she had given Dismas, but unsurprisingly found Audrey more receptive to the idea than the highwayman had been. 

“It’s an admirable idea, if not a bit lofty,” Audrey said, with a cheerful smile pairing up with her affirmation.

“Well, it’s better than waiting for something else to happen,” Katherine said.   
“And I agree,” said Audrey. “You said you talked to Dismas already?”

“He said nothing of import,” Katherine admitted.

“He’ll come around,” Audrey reassured her. “But I like it.”

“You do?”

“I don’t like unsolved mysteries, and I like being the one to solve them,” Audrey said with a devilish wink. “Count me in.”

“Do you think-”

“Talk to Emilia about it as soon as you can,” Audrey said. “I’d say do it now, but she’s a little...preoccupied at the moment.”

Audrey patted her gently on the shoulder and, with an equally cheerful _farewell_ , strolled down the corridor with a brisk pace, leaving Katherine alone again.

_ Two is better than none _ , she thought to herself, ruminating over Audrey’s suggestion.  _ And maybe I can get backing for this. Why didn’t I think of that before?  _

Even if her plan had seemed half-baked at some points, it was coming together better now, and her confidence was blooming. She had her supporters, now all she needed was an audience. And that would come quite easily.

Katherine returned to her room quickly, grabbed a slip of parchment, and wrote hastily. She made certain that the letter was urgent but polite in its wording, convincing but not aggressive in its tone, and she signed it with as much flourish as she could muster. Anything that she could do to convince her employer that this endeavor would be worthwhile, she was willing to do.

_ Stamp it, seal it, deliver it.  _ She hurried back out, passing by a couple of bemused-looking greenhorns on her way back to the main hall. With luck, Emilia  _ would  _ be available - after all, how could Audrey possibly know about whether or not she was open to visitation? Katherine hoped and prayed that she could find an audience, but part of her was also withholding.

_ What if she says no? What if she decides the idea is too dangerous? What if she decides that  _ you  _ aren’t up for the task?  _ That last thought burned more hotly than other of the others, and stuck in her mind like sap sticks to bark as she tried her best to swallow her fears and returned to the main hall. Her heart throbbed menacingly and she could feel her tongue shriveling up in her mouth, as though terrified of the potential for speech. The guards on duty did not even think to stop her as she entered; they knew her face and reputation, and had no reason to question her on her whereabouts. That was some small bit of relief. 

She was more relieved to find that the main hall was empty. The old rugged work desk where Emilia normally sat had been replaced with a cleaner, larger cherrywood table that looked stronger and more trustworthy than the previous piece had, but Emilia was nowhere in sight. 

_ So perhaps Audrey was right _ , Katherine thought, her heartbeat slowing to a normal pace again,  _ and perhaps that is for the better.  _

Without a word or a hint of hesitation, she set her letter upon Emilia’s desk, carefully placing it on the top of a pile of missives and official-looking papers to ensure that she would receive priority. With a little luck, Emilia would be receptive to the contents of the letter, even if Katherine dreaded any potential meeting.

She left the main hall just as the sound of a wooden door creaking open farther back in the room could be heard. The little letter, with an expertly crafted signature on it and a plea for understanding contained within, would be the first thing that Emilia Lancette would read that day. 


	4. The Heretic

Katherine’s dreams that night managed to be more turbulent and unsettling than ever before. Even if the weather was calmer and the storms stayed out to sea, she was wracked with lurid, terrifying nightmares that startled her back into the waking world several times. Each time, she would struggle to catch her breath and ease her pounding heart as she would fumble around in the darkness for a candle and a match. She would light the candle, let her heartbeat steady itself, and sing hymns to herself in a quiet, calming voice to distract her mind from the nightmarish visions. After about ten or fifteen minutes of humming and singing, she would feel relaxed once more and would return to sleep, only to repeat the process an hour or so later.

The voice that haunted each and every dream was the worst part. Regardless of what her dream-self was doing, whether it was fleeing a formless evil through endless stone corridors or attempting to dig out of a buried coffin with bare hands, an unseen voice would  _ continuously  _ whisper foul, alien words into her ear. It sounded as though it were right behind her shoulder, speaking directly into her head and corrupting her mind with evil thoughts, but she could never find a form for it. It was a faceless, vanishing evil that haunted her long after the dreams had ended and the sun had risen once more. 

Katherine rose shortly after the sun and dressed herself, brown robes and pleated sandals as always, her head aching from lack of sleep and her throat dry from the turbulence of the night. She needed prayer and meditation, but she also needed food and water; she had eaten precious little yesterday, consumed by anxiety over her nightmares and the state of her letter, and was suffering that morning. The first and only thing she wanted to do was to find a quiet, well-lit place to eat and give herself some time to think, alone. 

Even that was too much to ask for, apparently. Before she had even grabbed her satchel and songbook, a perturbed knock came at her door, followed by a familiar voice calling her name.

_ Dismas _ , she recognized, and rushed to open the door only to find a haggard, half-dressed, slovenly Dismas standing there, his eyes bloodshot and the jowls on his cheeks sagging. 

_ I am not the only one to have suffered _ , she thought, surveying his sorry condition.  _ That is relieving, but also...more concerning than anything else.  _

“You seem to have gotten us into the shit,” he grumbled, rubbing sleep from his right eye.

“Pardon me?”

“You wrote the letter?”

Katherine’s heart skipped a beat.  _ Did she read it already? What does she think? Is she upset? Is she confused?  _ Dismas would have none of those answers, of course, so Katherine did not ask anything of him. She just nodded her head.

“Well, you wanted an audience,” he said. “And you have one.”

“You mean it?”

“And Audrey and I are being hauled into this,” he grumbled. “How great.”

“Well, you two have been mapping,” Katherine pointed out.

“The last time you brought up my maps, you mocked them,” Dismas reminded her.

“I’m sorry-”

“Well, I suppose they have value to you, even still,” he waved her off. “I’ll be there today. Just don’t ask me to be happy about it.”

Katherine would not dare to ask that of Dismas ever. She let him go without a farewell, figuring that he hadn’t sleep well either and was in the same mindset as she was.

_ It’s understandable _ , she thought.  _ I wonder if there’s others affected, then.  _

It was some small comfort that she wasn’t the only one suffering, but the emphasis was on the “small”. It did little to assuage her greater fears about what lay buried beneath the manor, and what had not been scoured out in their last grand expedition.

_ Perhaps the necromancer is not really dead at all _ , she thought, and that mere idea sent a chill down her spine. She decided that, for the sake of her composition and emotional security, she would not think about it anymore until her meeting. Which, unfortunately, was very soon. 

She received a summons not long after that brief meeting, by way of a bedraggled, dirty-looking guardsman who knocked at her door and wordlessly demanded her attendance before the Baroness with a hard stare. For a moment, Katherine wondered if she had accidentally kicked a hornets’ nest, which did not inspire confidence. Nevertheless, she trooped on, following the guard as he led her through the castle’s winding hallways and up to the main hall, where her audience would be waiting. 

It would’ve been a comfort to have Reynauld nearby, even if he was not actively taking part, but he was nowhere to be seen. As she stepped into the hall, she found it fairly empty, with only a few guards covering the doors, Emilia sitting at her new desk, and a rather unhappy-looking Dismas sulking against a side wall. Audrey was nowhere to be seen, and Katherine hoped that she was just late.

_ That would be fitting for her _ , Katherine thought, as the heavy doors closed behind her and she found Emilia’s stare fixating directly on her. It felt like being forced under the eye of the Light itself, and she felt incredibly vulnerable as she approached Dismas. 

“We’re all excited to be here, I’m sure you can tell,” Dismas said, grimacing, as she approached. She had nothing to say in response to that; his negative attitude wasn’t helping.

_ Just sit to the side and let me talk _ , she thought.  _ I don’t want you to hinder me.  _

He seemed content with that idea already, given that he was already on the sidelines. Glancing up at Emilia, who was still staring at her intently, she decided there was no point in delaying procedures. Emilia was a busy woman, being local nobility and all, and would not have time for delaying anyway. Girding herself, Katherine stepped up towards the dais and approached until she felt as though she were at a comfortable distance. 

“Thank you for seeing me today,” she began, hoping to start off on the right foot. 

“It is my pleasure,” she returned. Even though she was clearly trying to strike an official tone, it made Katherine feel more comfortable to know that she was not in a hostile environment. She continued, and explained her concerns within five minutes in what she hoped was an articulate and understandable argument.

Emilia listened intently throughout, furiously jotting down notes on several sheaves of parchment. When Katherine was done, Emilia had still not finished her note-taking, and a rather awkward thirty seconds of silence passed before she set her paper aside and returned her attention to Katherine.

“Your concerns are duly noted,” she said. “But what course of action are you suggesting?”

Katherine felt her cheeks turn blood red. She had forgotten the entire point of this meeting; that is to say,  _ what  _ ought to be done in light of all this evidence that was piling up. 

_ To be fair _ , she thought to herself as she struggled for a cohesive answer, _ I don’t think I ever had a good plan of action.  _ Action, in all of its forms, was never her strong suit. She left that to men like Reynauld and Dismas, who had minds for fighting and sword-arms worthy of the blades they carried. But now she had no choice but to think. 

“You say there’s a problem. The lit candles, the storms, your own fears,” Emilia reiterated. “But what can be done?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” she admitted, unable to give a good answer. She could feel disappointment creep into Emilia’s face, followed by irritation. Seeing this, Katherine decided to do what she could to remediate the situation.

“But,” she continued, “I have a few ideas. I believe that all of this must be connected to something beneath the manor.”

“Indeed?”

Emilia’s irritation was, to some degree, replaced with curiosity. Katherine continued, remembering what Herod had told her and what her own eyes had seen in the lower levels of the ruins. 

“Dismas and Audrey-”

Katherine glanced back and, to her surprise, saw Audrey almost completely hidden behind a couple of stalwart guards, watching her with intent. 

“-have both been mapping the ruins and may hold the key to our future expeditions.”

“And you believe such future expeditions are necessary?”

“They might be,” Katherine replied. “I think there’s something else down there.”

“Because of the candles?” Emilia asked. 

_ That, and more.  _ Katherine had mentioned the terrible whispered words that haunted her dreams, and had been rousing her from sleep every night for the past week, but she wasn’t sure if she explained it properly. And how could she? How could she explain that every nightmare seemed to pull her back into the depths of the estate’s ruins, to flee from some unknown horror in the deepest levels of the manor, where no man had yet penetrated in a hundred years? 

“Yes, that is the biggest thing,” she said. 

“Your concerns are valid,” Emilia said, after a moment’s pause. “But I don’t know-”

Regardless of what she was about to say, she did not get the chance to let it out. She was interrupted mid-sentence by a furious din from outside of the hall, followed by swearing and heavy footfalls. The guards assembled in the hall seemed alarmed but did not move, waiting for an order from Emilia that would not come. The baroness herself sat in place, mouth set in a thin line and eyes staring at the hall’s main door, as the sounds of struggle grew nearer. 

Mere seconds later, the doors fell open and several men emerged into the hall, three of them struggling to drag a thrashing, yelling figure along with them. Katherine immediately recognized two of the party members; one of them was a musketeer that she had seen around town, the one responsible for the recent organization of the town’s militia, which had suffered heavy losses during the assault on the estate a week ago.

The other was Alasdair the bounty hunter, and he looked none too pleased. 

“Who is this?” Emilia asked, struggling to speak above the cries of the captive man. Katherine could not get a good look at him, as her view was blocked by one of the armed guards who were attending the party, but she could  _ smell  _ him for certain. He smelled ripe, and even from a distance she could tell that his clothes were ragged and dirty. Whoever he was, he was clearly not mentally fit either; Katherine felt a pang of pity for him, a soul that had seen better days.

“Found him on the edge of the Thompson farmstead, like this,” Alasdair said, as one of the guards drove a mailed boot into the madman’s shin, causing him to yelp in pain. 

“Just him?”

“Just the one,” Alasdair vouched. “Attacked me and tried to bite Cordelia. He’s out of his mind.”

To his credit, the man  _ did  _ appear to have no understanding of the conversation going on around him. Even though he was the subject of it, he appeared to be unaware of that fact, and began yelling a string of obscene and strange words at the top of his lungs, unwilling to be silenced. Even violence did not seem to stop him, as another boot to the ribs did nothing. 

“And why did you haul him here, if he’s so inconsolable?”

Alasdair didn’t seem to be quite aware of how to answer that. He visibly bit his lower lit, and stammered a little bit, before Katherine decided to put her own word in.

“He may prove useful,” she said, drawing the baroness’s eyes back to her. 

“Useful?”

“We shouldn’t just kill him,” Katherine urged. 

“He’s a violent one,” one of the guards warned her. “He won’t tell you much.”

At that very moment, as if to prove his captor’s point, he began to bark obscenities towards Katherine, assailing her with insults and what amounted to gibberish. She was unmoved, and turned back to Emilia. 

“I want ten minutes with him. No more,” Katherine asked. 

Emilia only briefly considered her proposition before bowing her head and quietly allowing her to do so.

“Be hasty about it,”

“And what happens after?” Alasdair asked, keenly eyeing the prisoner, who in spite of his madness was still aware that his fate was about to be decided.

“We will put him in a cell,” Emilia decided, her jaw set with determination. “For now.”

“Alright. But I do not want you with him alone,” Alasdair said, turning to Katherine, who had herself turned towards the prisoner. She wanted to dismiss him and assert that she would be fine on her own, but she wasn’t about to argue the point in public.  _ A little extra muscle might not hurt _ , she figured,  _ in case things go awry. As they tend to do in this county.  _

Emilia gave them her leave and they hauled the prisoner off. He was no longer screaming, but seemed fascinated by Katherine, staring at her, attempting to descry some hidden features as though he were a spyglass. He made her incredibly uncomfortable, but this was not her first time dealing with heretics or rabble; she would not be bothered by his vile speech and foul odor, at least not when she had work to do.

_ Figure out what he wants. Or what he’s trying to say _ , she thought, as they hauled him deeper into the castle, towards the holding cells.  _ There has to be method to that madness. He’s more put together than the last one was.  _

The man muttered a few words under his breath, inaudible, but did not protest as he was dragged towards one of the empty cells. A few of the keep’s dungeon chambers were occupied by riff-raff and petty thieves, common criminals more or less, but nothing of importance was kept down there for the time being.

_ Perhaps for the better _ , Katherine noted, figuring that this rabid creature they had captured may pose enough of a risk just by himself. He was still glancing over at her, transfixed by something on her body, or transfixed  _ by  _ her body perhaps. The thought of it made her shudder. 

The guards attending to them, along with Alasdair, forced the man into a chair in an empty room and strapped him down. Leather manacles wrapped around his wrists, he could do nothing but squirm in his seat as Katherine stood opposite from him, staring down at him and studying him in turn.

“Who are you?” was her first question. She couldn’t think of any better way to start. 

“I am no one,” he grumbled in return. “No one important.”

“Not important, maybe. But you are someone?”

“Was,” he said, chuckling darkly. “Matters no more.”

“It matters to me,” Katherine insisted. 

“Only for a minute,” he said. “Then you forget.”

“I won’t-”

“Who are you?”

He had turned the question on her. She hid any surprise and immediately answered back.   
“I am a servant of the Light, and a Brown Sister,” she replied sternly. “And I am the one askin-”

“A servant of the Light,” he mulled, interrupting her heedlessly. “The Light. Light. Hehe.”

She frowned at him but let him continue.  _ This is going nowhere.  _ Standing in the back corner, his burly arms crossed, Alasdair looked displeased. 

“I have a message for you, whore of the Light,” he said, and Alasdair visibly shifted as if to lash out at him. Katherine nodded ever so subtly at him, wordlessly telling him  _ stand down, not yet.  _

“What message?”

“The true prophet sends you a message,” he said, leaning in towards her. “The one who bears the real word.”

Katherine frowned and, in response, he smiled. Almost gloating.

“Your light will be flushed like a pebble to the sea, borne along a mighty river,” he said, his eyes boring holes into hers with the kind of intensity only a madman could summon. “Snuffed. Destroyed. Reduced before the shadow. You understand?”

He smiled grimly at her but a heavy blow to the back of his head put a stop to that. He grunted, fell forward a bit, and then started howling as the pain set in. Katherine moved to stop him but she knew this was no good. He wouldn’t give names, dates, or locations no matter how hard he was struck.

“He called you a whore,” Alasdair said, his face set with anger. Katherine noticed his brow was furrowed incredibly tightly, and was surprised at how quick he was to leap to her defense.

“It means nothing,” she shrugged it off as the madman raged. “Empty words.”

“Hateful ones,” Alasdair agreed. 

“I am done with him now,” Katherine insisted. “There’s nothing more to be gained.” She had to mull over what little he had already said before she could do anything else. 

“To a cell?”

“To a cell.”

The guards obeyed wordlessly and undid his manacles, aiming to drag him away. The madman was not quite done, however, as he began to strike up once more as he was manhandled out of the room.

“You will never silence me, you liar!” he shouted, directing his anger at Katherine most prominently. 

“You, you liar of the Light!” he bellowed, straining to reach out towards her. “Coward! Cowardly, aren’t you? Face him in the candle-lit room at the bottom of the world! Face him you coward!”

Another punch rendered him unable to speak words, only cry in agony. He was hauled off, his voice fading as he was dragged down the hallway. Only Katherine and Alasdair remained; one contemplative, the other fuming. 

“I should have killed him out there,” Alasdair said.    
“No.”

“Why not?” Alasdair asked, bemused. “He’s done nothing but harm. He’s lost it.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted. “Yes. But there’s more to it.”

Alasdair shook his head in disagreement. It was clear, however, that regardless of what he thought, it would have no effect on Katherine.

“I hope you can make some sense of it,” he said before departing, leaving her alone in the darkest part of the dungeons. She stood there for a few minutes, mulling over the vile words and heresies that had been hurled her way. Disgusting as they were, she had to overcome her repulsion to eschew a grain of truth from the chaff of deceit. 

_ True prophet _ , she recalled.  _ Real word. Bottom of the world. Like a pebble.  _

She almost had to chuckle, but it was starting to come together like a self-completing puzzle. There was more evil afoot in the cavernous chambers and stone hallways beneath that once-imperial manor, and Katherine aimed to discover its true nature. 


	5. Dear Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody. It's been quite a long time since I last published. This is due to many factors, the foremost being work and putting in overtime in my division towards the end of the year to meet our goals. I've also picked up a second smaller job so free time is limited. Nonetheless, I have advanced ahead in my writings and actually have this story arc completely finished - I hope to publish a new chapter every two or three days and have it all published by next week, so that should hopefully make up for the lack of content. Thank you for your patience!

“I’m not ready to die yet.”

The wounded arbalest grit her teeth as Katherine laid a hand on her exposed flesh, mere inches away from the gaping laceration in her right flank, but she did not cry out or scream. Her face, dark skin now running disturbingly pale as she lost blood, was set with the determination to survive.

_ You won’t die _ , Katherine wanted to say.  _ We’re getting you out of here.  _

But they had their backs against the wall. Quite literally.

Katherine looked to her right and the terminus of the stone corridor taunted her with its finality. Sitting in the right-side corner, partially covered by a protruding column of grim gray stone, she tried to avoid distraction as fighting raged not thirty feet ahead of her. She was terrified of the possibility of a stray crossbow bolt or thrown javelin sailing past the defenders and striking her in the ribs, rendering her too a casualty of war, but she worked on her patient nevertheless.

“I’ve got to get back and help them,” the arbalest argued, her fingers trembling as Katherine grabbed a scrap of handkerchief and put pressure on the wound.

“You’re going nowhere,” Katherine told her firmly. “I need you to relax and stay with me.”

“I will not die.”

Reynauld shouted something incomprehensible and a shrill, agonized scream was heard. Katherine could no longer resist the urge to peek around the column at the battle, and briefly halted her work to divert her attention to the scene at hand.

Reynauld, Audrey, a man named Jean-Baptiste, and several poorly-equipped mercenaries were the only thing that stood between her and a raving horde of mindless, rabid men who seemed to have lost all sense of humanity. When they had first encountered the savages, the party had mistaken them for a troupe of regular bandits who had wandered too deep into the estate’s nebulous heart. But it had quickly become evident that these bandits were anything  _ but  _ regular; snarling, growling, and baying like frenzied hounds they had leapt into battle without regard for their own safety, lashing out with unparalleled fury and unpredictability like rabid animals. 

_ It’s the words _ , she knew, though she dared not say it aloud for fear of opening herself to corruption.  _ The words got to them. All of them.  _

Even now, she could hear the faintest whispers flowing into her ear, barely audible over the din of battle. Sudden anxiety drove her to shake the lurking fear away and return to the job at hand. 

In spite of her best efforts, the tide of blood had only been partially stemmed. The arbalest’s wound was a deep one and the blade had partially severed an artery, making Katherine’s job all the harder. Even still, she tried, labored to keep the pressure on and mutter the hymns she had been taught to sing as a child.

 

_ The faithful ones, we sit and pray, _

_ Through darkest night till brightest day _

_ To gain and to hold, our heart’s only desire, _

_ The warmth and mercy of Light’s holy fire. _

 

The song was probably more of a comfort to her than it was to the arbalest. Nevertheless, she hummed, steadily applying a poorly-conceived packing of gauze to the wound in an effort to stem the flow. 

They were losing ground. Audrey and Jean Baptiste gave ground to the advances of the ravenous bandits, who swung their weapons wildly and advanced unsteadily. Loping towards their opponents, they were easy targets for a skilled fighter like Reynauld, but the mercenaries and Audrey were hesitating and pulling back. 

_ If you fall back any further, you will have nowhere to go _ , Katherine thought, as she watched Reynauld drive his blade through a single opponent’s gut and disembowel him in one swift, brutal motion. Though he had not budged an inch, his allies were retreating, and Katherine watched as one of the mercenaries took a powerful hammer blow to his unarmored head and collapsed to the ground, unmoving. 

_ Number two _ , she silently counted.  _ Let’s hope she does not make number three.  _

Her pulse was weakening but she kept her eyes open as Katherine continued to pack the wound. One of the bandits attempted to break through the line, writhing wildly as he moved, but Audrey plunged one of her jagged dirks into his shoulder and he collapsed to the ground, his wild flailing missing her by mere inches. One of the mercenaries plunged his spear through the wounded madman’s gullet, and he was no more as his life bled away in seconds. 

The mercenary had no time to celebrate, though, as a rusty arming sword pierced his left shoulder, and he too collapsed to the ground, struggling to turn around and face his new opponent. Audrey was swift to retaliate but the damage had already been done; Katherine could do nothing for him, as he was immediately set upon by another madman who hacked and hewed at him even as he lay dying. The enemy was relentless, and Katherine wondered if there was a method to  _ their  _ madness as well.

Unfortunately, it did not appear like any of them were being taken alive. Reynauld and Jean Baptiste, their massive blades hacking and slicing through leather and lamellar like butter, were cutting down the last of their opponents as the madmen finally wore themselves out. Not a single one of them was retreating; they appeared to know neither fear nor death, such concepts forgotten in their bout of mindless rage. 

The last of them fell and the arbalest exhaled her last. The ruins were finally quiet once again, save for the distant creaking of rotting woodwork and the soft whisper of a distant breeze, bearing with it a foul smell. 

“How many did we lose?” Reynauld asked, always the first to take charge of a situation after fighting. Audrey looked like she was ready to collapse herself, even though she had sustained no wounds during the battle; she was in shock, and the mercenaries were not doing much better. One of them had knelt over the corpse of his slain friend, grimacing as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and the others were standing over their slain foes, quiet and anxious-looking. 

“Is anyone else hurt?” Katherine asked, breaking the silence. All eyes turned towards her; Jean’s were hidden behind the rigid bronze faceplate he wore, but she could feel his lifeless, unsympathetic eyes boring into her skull all the same. Audrey looked as though she were on the verge of collapsing, her body  quivering with exhaustion.

“No injuries,” Reynauld said. “Just dead.”

“What of the arbalest?” Audrey asked, slumping against a thick stone pillar in an attempt to rest. Katherine answered her wordlessly, and the grave robber bowed her head in an equally wordless gesture of respect.

“We can’t just leave them here can we?” one of the mercenaries asked, with exasperation rankling his voice. 

“We shouldn’t,” Jean said. “It’s improper.”

“I agree. But carrying them back isn’t an option. We’ll do what we can,” Reynauld promised. 

What they could end up doing was precious little. Without spades or open earth, there was no proper burial rite that could be given to their slain companions. Instead, the bodies were hauled into an open room where there was enough dead wood and space to construct a makeshift pyre. 

The room had once served as some sort of dining hall, that much was clear; moth-eaten tapestries and molded, lifeless paintings adorned the stone walls and a rusted iron chandelier hung over the entire venue. Where a table had once been was only empty space, and the chairs that had once surrounded it were heaped in various piles or broken into splintered pieces, abandoned by their previous users. It took them about twenty minutes to break down enough chairs and salvage enough rotting wood to throw together a pyre appropriate enough for the dead.

Katherine could only cover her nose and watch as Jean, bearing a single torch, lit the wood up and stepped back. The room would soon be filled with the repulsive stink of burning flesh, and they evacuated as quickly as possible to avoid such a wretched odor.

_ Better this, than to leave them on the cold ground _ , Katherine knew, but all the same it felt wrong. 

_ This estate feels wrong. This whole town feels wrong.  _

Smoke began issuing into the hallway, dark grey and stinking of death, as they moved out of the ruins with haste. 

* * *

 

_ Dear sister- _

_ No, no, are they even your sisters anymore? After so many years?  _

Katherine set her quill aside and placed her head in her hands. Ever since it had developed at around lunchtime, just as they had returned from the ruins, her headache had worsened to the point where it was becoming distressingly painful. She had tried lighting incense and had tried drinking fresh, clean water; nothing had really helped.

There was something gnawing at her mind and it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. 

“It’s the whispering, even if I can’t hear it,” she had told herself a few minutes ago, racking her brain and trying to get herself to think straight. The deep rumble of thunder, ominous in its imminence, made her skin tingle and gave her pause once more. 

_ Another storm? Is there no respite?  _

She tried to take up the quill again but a knock at her door, sudden and determined, interrupted her once more. This was a welcome interruption, though, as even a few minutes of company would be a break from the monotony of her barren, unfurnished room.

It turned out to be Alasdair, whose grim visage and stiff lip told her that nothing good would come of his visit.

“Alasdair?”

“I figured I ought to let you know,” he said. “About our prisoner.”

“The one from Tuesday?” Katherine asked, making sure she had the right person.

“Aye. He’s dead,” he announced. 

“Dead how?” Katherine was not entirely surprised, but the manner of his death was of interest to her. Another clue to the puzzle that was constantly leaving her exasperated and out of ideas.

“Scratched out his own throat. Fingernails, mind you. By the time guards heard him they were too late.”

Katherine felt a wave of nausea surge up her body, and resisted the urge to sit down. The image she had in her head was not a pleasant or comforting one, and it made her feel incredibly uncomfortable.

“They should’ve watched him more closely,” Katherine said. 

“Too many things to do. Not enough guards,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t have much more use for him anyway.”

“He didn’t say anything more but he wrote a single phrase on his cell walls,” said Alasdair. “Multiple times,” he added.

“In blood?”

“No. Tiny piece of chalk.”

“What did he write?”

“Just the four words.  _ Down in the church _ ,” Alasdair reported. “Over and over again.”

Katherine felt herself pursing her lips as her mind raced through all of the possible meanings of such a strange and seemingly innocuous phrase. It reminded her of one of the hymns she was taught as a child, one of the more innocent and simple ones:

 

_ Down to the old church _

_ Together we all go, _

_ With shawl and book, _

_ Together we will grow. _

 

Almost insultingly simple and devoid of any strong meaning, it was once meant to inspire faith and rigor in the lives of children who had been chosen to give themselves to the church and to the Light. Katherine had once been one of those children, and this strange report from Alasdair reminded her of her own childhood, now tinged with a darker meaning.

“It sounded like nonsense to me,” Alasdair said, shrugging. 

“Hmm.”

“Then again, everything he said was nonsense.”

“There’s method to the madness,” Katherine promised. 

“I know, I know,” Alasdair said. “You keep insisting on that.”

“I will find it, I promise.”

“I need a drink. Goodnight, Katherine.”

“Goodnight.”

The bounty hunter departed, headed for the inn to drown his concerns in a mug of the local ale or perhaps even something stronger. Katherine was repulsed by the mere idea of it and closed her door firmly, trying to snuff out any indecent or disturbing thoughts and refocus on the matter at hand.

_ Down in the church _ kept bothering her, though. The madman couldn’t have been referring to that old hymn, right? There was no way he would know it…

_ Unless he grew up with the faith as well _ , she knew. That was entirely possible, but still unlikely in this corner of the world. The entire peninsula, from the apex of the desolate moors of Tauros to the misty, unpleasant fens of the Hawk’s Nest, seemed to be devoid of faith. The people were infidel, the towns were built around debauchery and thrift, and the land itself seemed to reject light and embrace darkness.

_ Banish such thoughts _ , she told herself, and found her hand inevitably forming a tight fist as she struggled to think clearly. 

She was torn between two tasks, now; her letter, and the madman. Decode the latter and address the former, but how?  _ How _ ? 

A thunderclap shook her from her spell and cleared her head for her. The storm was drawing nearer, and for the first time since she was a child, she felt afraid of what was coming. Growing up she, like most children, had feared lightning and thunder. As an adult, such silly fears are normally banished-

_ But this is no ordinary thunder, and no normal storm _ , she knew, and reinvigorated her quill with more ink and set to her letter, determination writ in her face. The words came slowly at first, but eventually they spilled forth with ease as the reality of her situation was remembered.

 

_ Dear sister, _

_ I regret to inform you that my personal mission here in the northern territories has not been as successful as I had hoped. While my time in Amalsium was profitable and I spent many an hour spreading the good word, here I have found far more resistance than I expected. The resistance comes not from the people, but the land itself.  _

_ The soil beneath this village of Tauros, from where I write, is evil. Not the evil of our metaphors, but a true, literal evil that manifests itself in the most hideous of forms. I have seen its effects myself, and even as I write this message I feel unease in spite of the warmth of my shelter and the light of my candle. I beg you sister, consider the plight here. The Light may be extinguished if we do not receive assistance - and if that happens, where will it end? _

_ Yours in faith, _

 

For a moment, she almost considered putting down an anonymous signature instead of her name. But that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? They knew who it was.

_ They would know who went off on her own on a great northern adventure, against all the advice she was given.  _

So what if they judged her? So what if they rejected her harshly? She had to try. So she folded the letter up, neatly tied it with a tiny piece of worn string, and set it aside, having signed it as her own. 

As she sat back in her chair, confident that her letter would at least find its way to its destination, another thunderclap roared and the rain began. And with it come a looming, gnawing anxiety that Katherine had felt many times before over the past couple of weeks - the deep-seated, lowkey fear that was driving her to the edge. Looking out of her meagre window towards the coastline not far from the keep, she watched as the waves surged and lightning flashed in the distance.

And that strange something continued to gnaw at the back of her mind, omnipresent and restless. 


	6. What Comes in the Dark

“How have your dreams been?”

“Horrid.”

“Horrid?”

“Well, yes-”

Katherine didn’t know how else to describe the nightmares that kept her up at night, the ones that left her with terrifying images that remained burned into her brain well into the morning hours.  _ Horrid might not even begin to cover some of them.  _

“Has nothing helped?” Reynauld asked as they both stepped over a wide puddle, where an indentation in the poorly-maintained village roads had filled with rainwater.

“Meditation helps a bit but it’s something else,” she said. “It’s this place.”

“I think I understand.”

Reynauld was looking haggard too, as though he had slept precious little. His eyes were bloodshot and the wrinkles in his forehead were looking more forlorn than usual. Perhaps he had suffered from nightmares as well, albeit likely of a different kind than the ones which had plagued Katherine. 

“You know, I have been feeling uneasy too,” he admitted, after a few moments of silence. Katherine was secretly grateful that he had suffered the same sensations.

“Like me?”

“I’d call it unease more than anxiety. It’s barely tangible, but there,” he admitted. A couple of day laborers, moving thick boards of lumber around as they rebuilt a damaged house, watched as they passed but said nothing. 

“I know what you mean.”

“It keeps me up at night and keeps me on edge. I feel like I’m being not only watched, but I’m being-”

“Observed?”

She had clearly hit the nail on the head, as his face paled and he almost stopped in the middle of the road. His stride was ruined and he appeared shocked that she had guessed it.

“I told you I feel the same way,” she said.

“That’s a good way to put it,”  he said. 

“It’s a feeling of being scrutinized from afar,” she added, thinking back to how she had felt all those cold nights, when nothing could bring her comfort. 

“You know, I-”

“It’s something evil, Reynauld.”

“I know.”

“It’s getting to both of us. You don’t look too good,” she pointed out.

“And neither do you, sister.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Reynauld took a deep breath and paused. They were in one of the town’s small residential districts, where the homes were separated by small farm plots or chicken coops and the grass grew thin and sickly. A few people were out on domestic business, drying their laundry or quietly tending to their meagre farm yields, but none of them seemed to be interested in the passers-by. They all looked haggard and worn, reflections of the two heroes now standing awkwardly in the street. 

“Well, we’re already going to the chapel, aye?” Reynauld asked. 

“Yes-”

“Let’s talk to the abbot. See what he can tell us,” he suggested.

It wasn’t the best idea, at least that’s what she thought, but it beat anything that she could come up with. Without protest, she went along with the plan and they resumed their march, heading up the bald-faced hill and arriving at the chapel on the summit, now renovated and looking more imposing than it had been when Katherine had first arrived. 

_ I feel a bit better already _ . Passing through the broad double doors and into the warm, quiet interior of the chapel gave her a feeling of comfort. She was in her second home. 

“The sooner we can talk to him the better,” Reynauld said, already moving towards the back of the building. 

“No prayer?”

“Another time, but we have more pressing matters,” Reynauld urged her, and began jogging off towards the chancel, vanishing behind the thick stone wall delineating the chancel and the nave within seconds. 

_ That’s not like you _ , she thought, and picked a nearby seat on an empty pew, feeling a little left out in the cold. Nevertheless, she understood his motivation.

_ If I knew where he went, I’d follow him.  _ At least that’s what she told herself. In truth, she knew exactly where he was going, and was for some reason dreading the meeting with the abbot. Perhaps it was because he was a bit of a snappy man and was prone to lashing out at people who were imposing themselves on him. 

_ Or perhaps it is because you’re afraid to face your fears _ , she knew that had to be it but wasn’t about to admit it, no no. As eager as she was for answers and a solution to this new plague, she was stalling only because she knew that the answers would not give her any respite. 

_ On the contrary _ , she thought,  _ they will probably only unnerve me more.  _ She heard the sounds of human conversation from the chancel and decided that enough was enough. She said a brief prayer for confidence and rose from her seat, making for the back where she knew she would find them. 

The abbot’s office had not changed much since her last visit. A bit cleaner, yes, but the barebones furnishings had not been added to and the room’s overall atmosphere had not been improved. The abbot was a gaunt, tired-looking man whose brown robes were worn and whose hair was frazzled and gray-going-on-white. He nodded respectfully at Katherine as she made her entrance but did not even bother greeting her in the proper manner.

She didn’t mind too much.

_ This man has seen more of Tauros than anyone possibly would want to _ , she knew.  _ How can I blame him?  _

Katherine pulled up a rickety, splintery old wooden chair and took a seat next to Reynauld, who placed a gentle and cautioning hand on her shoulder as she sat. 

“I trust that you two have come here for assistance?” the abbot began, his voice hoarse and ragged as though he were burdened by illness. He stooped low to sit down and Katherine could clearly see that his body had been ravaged by age, as he struggled with even the most menial of physical labors. 

“In a way,” Reynauld said. “We need advice, more like.”

“Of course.”

Reynauld took the lead at that point and began explaining their recent endeavors to the abbot, who had no doubt heard bits and pieces but had missed the full story. As his tale unfolded and Katherine was reminded of their chilling discoveries in the ruins, she couldn’t help but feel a tightness in her stomach. Anxiety, but over what? 

In the back of her head, the gnawing began again. This time, though, she was able to shake it away temporarily. 

“Even with the necromancer dead, there’s still an evil presence down there,” Reynauld said, wrapping up his tale. “We’re not sure what to make of it.”

“Nor am I,” the abbot admitted, running a withered and bony hand through his ragged hair. “But given the situation, I believe we must take action even without certainty.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Reynauld said, hopping straight to the point. 

The abbot took a moment, clearly to collect his thoughts. Katherine had not yet said anything, waiting to see what his suggestions would be.

“Clearing out the old estate is useful but not enough,” said the abbot. “We need to bring the Light back to it.”

_ I like the sound of that so far _ , Katherine thought.

“How so?” Reynauld asked.

“Well, there could be several ways, but the old churches there-”

The abbot paused and reached down to one of the drawers in his desk, searching for something. He cursed quietly when he could not find it in short order and gave up. 

“-the old churches there, they have been dark for too long. Abandoned, like the rest of it, with time.”

“You think we need to take them back?” asked Reynauld. 

“Not just that,” said the abbot, “but restore them to their proper order. Remind those old halls of what faith looks like.”

“Go on.”

“The relics and trappings of this chapel here may prove useful,” he said. 

“You mean restoration?”

“Even one or two of the artifacts we keep in our reliquary here may be of use,” the abbot explained. “We do not have a lot...but what little we can spare should be put to use.”

“And you think it will help?”

“Force of arms will only get you so far,” the abbot said. 

Reynauld did not seem pleased by that. Being a man of the sword, why should he? Katherine, however, saw the wisdom in the old man’s words. 

_ There is power in those relics, even covered in dust as they are _ , she thought to herself.  _ They can come in handy.  _

“I agree with you,” she finally spoke up, startling both of the men, who had expected her to keep her peace.

“But?” the abbot asked, expecting a rebuttal to his proposition. 

“We need bodies, too,” Katherine said.    
“We have plenty of able-bodied men here,” Reynauld said. 

“Men of the faith, though? Brothers and Brown Sisters?” 

As to that, Reynauld had no answer. Both of them seemed to consider her words carefully, and the abbot clicked his tongue as though agreeing. 

“Artifacts and decorations are nothing without faithful minds and bodies to gird them,” Katherine reminded them.

“Our sister speaks truly,” the abbot said. 

“I do not want to say that Tauros is lacking in faith,” Katherine added, “but we need good people of the church or else our efforts will be in vain.”

“Indeed.”

“What comes in the dark now is still unholy and putrid,” Reynauld reminded the abbot. “Even if the skeletons seem to be resting finally.”

“So you have-”

“And I don’t think that the threat is as immediate anymore. This is something different,” Katherine added. 

“What do you mean?” the abbot inquired.

“How have you felt in the past few days, brother?” Katherine inquired. From his initial reaction it was clear that he wasn’t sure how to react to such an odd question, which appeared to come without precedent.

“I confess I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“How you’ve been feeling. Mentally. Emotionally,” Katherine clarified. Reynauld was saying nothing at this moment, letting her speak her mind. That was a welcome relief.

“Tired. Feeling bedraggled. I admit, a little out of nerves,” the abbot said. 

“Would you consider that unusual?” inquired Katherine. 

“Not by itself,” the abbot said. “But...yes.”

“Unusual in that it has been consistent?” she asked. 

“Very. No matter how much I sleep,” the abbot reported. 

That was what Katherine unfortunately wanted to hear.  _ We’re all being affected, and it’s so subtle and strung-out that most of us don’t even notice it.  _ Even the abbot, being an erudite and meditative man, had not been able to connect the pieces and reach a conclusion about his own suffering. 

“You think it’s related to what you’ve been finding down there?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Katherine said. “But I get a feeling.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t sure if the abbot believed her or not, but Reynauld was listening intently and seemed to be thoughtfully considering her ideas. Regardless of what he was actually thinking, he didn’t voice any opinions when he spoke up again.

“I think that getting back down there is our best course forward,” said Reynauld. 

“Agreed. The churches need light once more,” said the abbot, already ushering them out of his office. 

“We’ll discuss details in the coming days,” Reynauld promised. The abbot agreed to this deal, bid them farewell as he rubbed his temples, and shut the door behind them as they left. Katherine was feeling wracked again, as her little discussion with the abbot had reminded her of how the past few days had left her feeling. 

_ Tired. Paranoid. Frightened of every dark corner, as if something is bound to leap out and- _

“You seem tense,” Reynauld noted. “Again.”

“Well, I-”

“You were tense earlier when I touched you on the shoulder. What is it? Is it your dreams?”

At that very moment, no, but all of her dreams were derived from her fears...so the answer was yes, and simultaneously no? Katherine had a hard time coming up with an answer, and after the passage of a few seconds Reynauld frowned deeply.

“Talk to me,” he asked. 

“It’s the same thing that it always is,” she sighed. 

There wasn’t much else to it. At least now she could admit it to herself:  _ I’m mortally afraid of death.  _ When she put it that way, it was actually kind of amusing, in a morbid fashion. 

Reynauld frowned and stalled a bit, his pace slowing as he devoted his energy to thinking about a response.

“I know how you feel, Katherine,” he said, “but you need to get a handle on yourself.”

“I know.”

“It’s one of those things we have to make our peace with, like it or not,” he said. 

“I know it’s inevitable. But why do we face it now?”

Reynauld turned to her again, his face expressing puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it, but she was thinking about the arbalest from the other day.  _ Even though she managed to hang on until the fight was over, she gave up the ghost. Why then? Why?  _

“I don’t know how to say it,”

“Death is just another step on the path of existence, Katherine,” Reynauld said, trying to offer some iota of comfort. “It’s part of the road we all walk upon, even if it comes at different times for us all.”

“Death and existence?”

“Existence is life and death. Joy and suffering. It’s all part of what we experience,” Reynauld offered. “Just think about that.”

Reynauld moved on, with or without Katherine. She remained behind, stuck in place, as though paralyzed by what he had told her.

_ What a strange way to be approaching things _ , she thought,  _ but thought-provoking nonetheless.  _ She decided to pass judgment on his words later, and sit for a moment to collect herself before moving on. 

She walked back to the keep in solitude, figuring that she ought to spend the rest of the day in isolation and meditate over Reynauld’s words. Curious, they were, in that they were offering a perspective of death and tragedy that Katherine’s theological vocation had never quite considered. Yet at the same time, his willingness to so broadly and blindly accept death as central to the human experience left her quite disturbed. Her mind had not raced like that in some time, and she needed to calm it down and give it time to think before she rushed into an unwise decision. 

But unfortunately for Katherine - or perhaps fortunately, in such a case - today would not be the day for calmness. For as she returned to the keep, intent on secluding herself within her quarters and ignoring the greater world for the rest of the day, she was accosted before she even entered the building by a ragged-looking, smelly errand boy who could not be any older than thirteen or fourteen.

“The quartermaster told me to look for a vestal,” the youth said. “You’re a vestal.”

“Pardon me?” Katherine asked. She was shocked to be stopped in her tracks by someone who was now physically blocking her from progressing further down the entryway, in spite of his smaller stature. The kid held in his hand a letter, wrapped with thin and wiry twine and bereft of blemishes or damage, and extended it to her without further ado.

“You have a message.”

He dashed off after that, no doubt intent on returning to the quartermaster’s office where she presumed he came from. For her part, she turned the letter over in her hand, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized what it was.

_ It has to be _ , an optimistic voice said in her head.  _ What else would it be?  _

She unwrapped the twine and unrolled the parchment, and her heart jumped into her throat when she passed the first words:

 

_ Dear sister, _

_ News of your plight has reached our ears. We received your previous message and have debated it both within the Council of Elders and the Girded Circle. _

_ We have decided, after much debate, to send the assistance that you have asked for. Please stand your ground and look to our coming by the first of the eleventh. We will not stand by while the security and hope offered by the Light’s presence is threatened. _

_ You will hear from us soon. _

_ Yours in faith, _

_ Elder Desette _

 

Katherine had to read it a second time to make sure that it was real. For a moment, she wondered if the paper she held was just an illusion - but it was true, as good as it was. They had heard her pleas for help, and had answered to the affirmative.

_ Faith is still strong _ , she thought, her spirit now buoyant and blossoming.  _ They will come to us yet.  _

No set date, of course, but in the moment Katherine couldn't care less. All she had wanted was the knowledge that help was on the way, and that they were not alone in their struggle. The details, in her mind, didn’t matter as long as that was clear. 

_ Help is on its way.  _


	7. The Way Forward

Katherine awoke early in the morning on the first of November to a gale so furious, she knew that a few people would not be surviving the night.

The candle that she had left lit on her desk had been extinguished some time ago, and her shutters had been thrown open by the initial gusts of wind as the storm hit. Thankfully, they were still in good condition and had not been damaged, but just by the noise and fury outside Katherine could tell this would be a bad one. 

There was no point in going back to sleep now. The storm was just now hitting the coast and it would likely not taper off for another half hour or so. Katherine was just about to pull out her hymnal to pass the time and provide comfort when someone knocked at her door. 

_ Someone determined _ , she noted, by the ferocity of the rapping.  _ At five in the morning, too? Something has happened.  _

“Just a moment,” Katherine croaked, her voice hoarse from sleep and her mind still swimming with the distant memories of fragmented dreams. Whatever was going on wasn’t quite enough to rouse her from the turgid mire of her subconscious, as she stumbled from one side of the room to the other struggling to find enough vestments to put together a working outfit. Nearly three minutes had passed before she was ready to open the door and found Reynauld, unarmored but armed, standing there. 

“It’s looking bad out there. I thought I’d rouse you,” Reynauld said as Katherine shut her room door behind her. For a moment, she wondered if she ought to close the shutters again, but knew that without an iron clasp of some sort they’d blow right open in a few minutes.  _ No sense in postponing the inevitable, then.  _

“Well, it’s stormed before. What’s it this time?” Katherine asked. 

“We already know buildings are down. People might be dead.”

“How many?”

“No idea. We haven’t gone out yet,” he replied. 

“I suppose I know why.”

“Cordelia’s mustering her militia vanguard now. Some of us will join her,” Reynauld said as they began moving down the corridor. 

“And what about me?” she asked, struggling to keep up with him. 

“Well, you are a healer, right?”

Katherine didn’t need to ask anymore questions. She knew now what her purpose would be.  _ People might be dead, but there are others that we can save. Light give me guidance, even in the midst of all this darkness.  _

On their way out, they were joined by a couple of guardsmen who were surprisingly alert and fully dressed. Katherine assumed that they were members of the night watch, and had been ready for something like this to occur. A few unfamiliar faces joined them as well, their eyes wet with sleep and their dress disheveled, murmuring among themselves and talking about things that Katherine could not understand.

Upon reaching the keep’s main door, they waited as the rain pounded against the sturdy stones of the keep and the wind howled outside. Peals of thunder spooked Katherine but she remained steadfast, sticking by Reynauld’s side as they waited around for what seemed like eons. When the storm finally began abating and the downpour turned into a mere shower, they made their way out and down towards the coastline, where the worst of the damage would have been. 

Even in the dark, Katherine could see that the damage had been significant. The cobblestone road that lead down to the rocky shoreline, slick with water from the monsoon, was also decorated with scattered debris that could only be from the more modest homes of the town’s working poor. Clumps of soaked thatch, pieces of wood, and slabs of damaged roofing could be seen as they moved towards the shoreline, where the few fishing boats tied up at the docks had miraculously managed to survive the gale. Only one of them had visibly taken damage, and its crew was already up and attending to the disaster before their vessel foundered. 

“I don’t know what to expect. Be prepared,” was all Reynauld said as they rounded the corner at the shoreline and saw the damage. Most of the hovels that lined the coast were still standing, but almost all of them had sustained some damage. A few of them had suffered significant damage, and a couple of those nearest to the water had collapsed entirely, looking like a pile of firewood more than a habitable structure. Katherine knew that, even if they acted quick, some people might already be dead. 

“Alright, our goal is to find survivors. Gather the wounded in a safe, dry space and bring out the dead,” someone at the front ordered. Katherine recognized the voice as belonging to that of Cordelia, who was uncharacteristically wearing a full-fledged bascinet and was strangely unarmed. The guardsmen began to fan out as people appeared in the streets, some dazed and others sleepy, but mostly unharmed.

Katherine began tending to minor injuries as she went along, checking in on those who were coming out as the rain subsided and dawn came, dim and mottled thanks to the thick array of thunderheads on the eastern horizon. A few scrapes and bruises were evident, but most people had escaped without severe injury. Katherine only saw one major case, a survivor from one of the collapsed huts, and saw to her injuries expediently as the guardsmen continued running down the line, bringing out the dead and comforting the living. 

“It all happened in an instant,” the injured survivor was telling her as he lay on a woolen blanket, her wounds now stitched up and cleaned to the best of Katherine’s abilities.

“I know. They come quick,”

“But never as strong as that before. It was like...a wave of wind, swept over us.”

“You think it was a cyclone?” Katherine asked.

“I don’t know.”

A pause. A brief, momentary beat. A child was crying in the distance.

“Will I be okay?” the woman asked. She had lost a decent bit of blood but Katherine would not be lying to her if she said  _ yes.  _

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Katherine reassured her. “You’ll be fine.”

“I will make it,” the woman reiterated, as though reassuring herself in turn. 

She was briefly reminded of the arbalest that she had held in her arms not long ago. That woman had been strong until the moment she was no longer needed - and then she had given up the ghost in a heartbeat. Her last heartbeat.

“You aren’t going to die,” Katherine said. 

“My husband. Is he okay?”

Katherine did not have an answer on hand. She could see guards in her peripheral vision, hauling nebulous forms that were clearly the corpses of the deceased out of splintery piles of rubble, and knew that no answer could be satisfactory. Even when the woman asked the question again, more desperately, Katherine did not answer, but called Reynauld over immediately when she saw him and requested his assistance.

“I need to get her to the chirurgeons,” she said. “Will you help?”

“She isn’t bad-”

“Still need to get her professional attention,” Katherine cut him off. “I need a stretcher and someone to help me bear it.”

“Alright.”

Reynauld did not argue further and helped Katherine bring the injured woman to her feet. It didn’t take them long to find an available stretcher, as volunteers had rushed down with splints and makeshift stretchers not long ago in an attempt to aid the militia in their rescue work. The woman protested a bit and asked about her husband again but when neither of her attendants responded, she fell silent. Her grave visage told Katherine that she had finally come to understand the grim truth. Katherine had silent respect for her steely and wordless recognition of the situation. 

They made their way back up to town in record time, owing to the adrenaline pumping through their veins and the desire to get away from the wreckage. Reynauld worked backwards as Katherine hurried on the other end, bearing the woman towards the chirurgeons’ office as quickly as they could. They would have made it to their final destination in record time, too, if not for the crowd of people gathering in the town square. 

They made a fatal mistake in stopping to assess the situation. Deciding that the woman’s injuries were not terribly urgent and realizing that her rush to action was impetuous, Katherine had Reynauld stop as they arrived before the throng of people, who were gaining strength as curious passerby came to assess the situation or stopped to gawk. They were all gathered around the statue that adorned the center of the square, a crudely-carved and ominous piece of stonework depicting the long-dead Remus Lancette, passing himself off as the town’s guardian by posing menacingly with a two-handed broadsword resting, point-down, between his legs. The statue’s imposing nature reminded Katherine more of an authoritarian tyrant than of any benevolent leader. The stonework was defined by jagged, angular features and the mighty weapon that the late Lancette’s image carried could strike nothing but fear into the hearts of those who were gazing upon it for the first time. The statue was not particularly tall nor outstandingly broad, but it dominated the main square and would be the first notable landmark that someone coming into Tauros for the first time would see, with the exception of the parapets of the keep and the steeple of the abbey further up the hill. 

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes! Such a gale we have never suffered! The destruction on the shore is evidence of that!” a man cried as he stood upon the statue, barely able to hold his ground on the pedestal as the statue itself took up most of the space. He appeared to be of middling age, with a patchy brown beard and short-cut hair like that of a sailor. Compared to the majority of the populace of Tauros, his clothes were in a decently-maintained state. Several of the people nearest to him were listening to him as though enraptured, and others were congregating around, seeking some kind of distraction to lull them out of their sleep-and-storm induced shock and delirium. 

“I don’t like this one bit,” Reynauld whispered, barely audible so that only Katherine could hear. She nodded her head but listened with great interest as the man continued. The woman on the stretcher said something but neither of them could hear it as several members of the crowd began yelling together.

“We’re out of options! The very sea and sky have turned against us! We are besieged!” someone said.

“Yes!” another agreed.

“Days like these are desperate times, my friends,” the man on the statue continued, now compelled by his neighbors to continue. “One look down at the shore will show you that something must change.”

“We cannot continue like this!” someone shouted.

“What do you mean?” another asked, and his question appeared to be directed towards both speakers. A few people voiced their assent wordlessly. Reynauld was beginning to move towards the center of the square with deliberation. Katherine was not sure whether to follow him, or to remain with her wounded ward. 

“If the gods of our current era do not answer our prayers, we must turn to the old gods!” the speaker announced.

Katherine’s heart skipped a beat. She found her throat suddenly dry and sweat beading on her forehead. 

_ He could not have said such a thing _ , she thought, but his words rang in her ears like angry bumblebees, tormenting her.  _ Vile heresy.  _

All thoughts of her ward and her current goal forgotten, Katherine marched forward, following behind Reynauld as the latter parted the crowd and approached the speaker’s position, clearly as disturbed as she was by his proclamations.

“This crowd must disperse, by order of the town watch and Baroness Emilia Lancette,” Reynauld announced, interrupting the speaker before he was allowed to continue. The speaking man turned to him and, without skipping a beat, immediately took to denouncing his presence.

“The people here have a need to voice their discontent. It would be unwise to disperse them.”

“We have an emergency here. You’re getting in the way,” Reynauld argued. 

“I am doing no such thing,” the man seethed. “You are all free to pass, are you not?”

It was then that Katherine, who had arrived at Reynauld’s side, noticed the glowering stares she was receiving. Several of the villagers appeared to be staring at her, their faces ripe with anger, and she could feel the crowd’s energy began to sour. While some people backed away, others began to grow restless, as though a strange and shadowy force was propelling them towards action. Even Katherine herself felt more angsty, and felt as though defending herself through violence was the only option she had against these potential threats.

“Your disruptive gathering must cease. This is your final warning,” Reynauld proclaimed. 

“You think us heretical!” the man decried. “What has our Light done for us? What has it done to protect us or reward us for our service?”

A few members of the crowd verbally agreed with him. Someone shouted a vile oath and Katherine felt even more threatened. The air around them, thick with moisture, was also electric with the threat of conflict. She had never felt such an atmosphere before, and suddenly felt the gnawing at the back of her head again, growing more violent with each passing second.  

“This cannot be allowed to continue,” she finally spoke up, stepping up to Reynauld’s side, her fists involuntarily clenching. “Your foul speech will cease.”

“Perhaps it is yours that must come to an end. How can you justify all of this before you!” To mark his point, the man pointed down towards the shore. A few parties of rescue volunteers were returning bearing wounded, and found themselves either unable or unwilling to part the crowd before them as they gathered.

“The Light tries us and challenges us to steel our faith,” Katherine retorted. 

“Tell that to the dead.”

Katherine grit her teeth and struggled to respond in due time. Reynauld took up the slack, though, in her stead.

“We will tolerate this no longer. Disperse, or you will be forced to,” Reynauld said. 

“We outnumber you, zealot,” the man reminded him. Even though his compatriots in the square were unarmed, it was clear that they held the numerical advantage against Reynauld, who was armed but unarmored.

“This need not come to blows,” Katherine said, even though her survival instinct and an unidentifiable voice in the back of her head was telling her otherwise. 

_ They’re going to kill you. Strike the first blow _ , it said, but Katherine was not willing to succumb to the strange intervention just yet.

“No, it need not. Admit your failure and retreat, and we will not fight,” the man said.

“I cannot do that,” said she. 

“You are making a mistake,” he warned her. Katherine stepped forward a bit, even in the face of such resistance before her, and she could see the man’s face more clearly. He looked afraid, as though he were frightened that Katherine would suddenly leap up towards him and slit his throat in one swift movement. She wondered what he was feeling at this very moment. The crowd was becoming more disgruntled and the dissidents nearest to her looked ready to step in at any moment, to commit acts of violence in defense of their dissent. 

“Hope has not diminished yet to the point where it cannot be returned. We mustn’t lose our way,” she argued, attempting to dissuade him from what was a surefire crash course into heresy and destruction. 

“That way was washed into the sea this morning,” the man said. 

“We are still alive!”

“And what happens when the next storm comes through?” he asked. “When more people die? When we are all washed away into the water!?”

“That will not happen,” Katherine promised. “We are on the cusp of a miracle.”

“Prove it to me!” he demanded. Katherine felt the urge to rise to his challenge and show him the way of force, but relented even as Reynauld drew his sword. The action caused several people to cry out in surprise and fear, and one of the men moved as if to strike. Reynauld knocked him away with a quick elbow, causing several of the men to hurl curses at him. Nobody else moved, though, and the air was pregnant with suspense.

“Prove it,” the man hissed. “Unless our faith has forever been a lie. Show me this miracle.”

“It will come,” Katherine promised. “The Light delivers to the faithful.”

“Are you faithful, then? Or are you deceiving all of us, and yourself?”

Katherine stuttered on the verge of an answer to this heady challenge when an unfamiliar sound, a low-pitched warhorn, echoed from not far away. The attention of all who were assembled turned towards the street that led out towards the main gate, and Katherine was one of the first people to rush towards the source of the sound, following in the footsteps of Reynauld. They left the disbeliever and his cohort behind as others turned and joined them, moving towards the new and more exciting source of commotion. 

Katherine found herself at the vanguard of the crowd as the guards at the gate rushed to meet the oncoming entity, whose qualities were still unknown to everyone except the lookout posted on top of the gatehouse. When the gates opened, however, Katherine’s heart jumped a beat - not out of terror, but out of relief, and perhaps even joy. 

Arrayed four abreast, a veritable miniature army of both men and women were marching into Tauros, arranged in perfect formation. They marched to no drum beat or verbal order, but moved in step as if to the beating of their own hearts. On the flanks, in the outer two rows, men in plain white and gray garb, bearing all sorts of weapons ranging from battle forks to ugly flails, moved as if guarding the center. The middle two ranks consisted of women decked out in brown cloaks and hoods, their bodies girded by cuirasses of plate mail and their backs burdened by heavy satchels. And at the front of the party was a woman whose face Katherine had almost forgotten after so many years.

“Katherine Adelbard,” the woman at the front said, with only a hint of a smile on her face. “We received your message.”

“Miss Raunier-”

“Please. I am no longer your steward or teacher,” the woman interrupted, shaking her head. “Call me Desette.”

Katherine made a mental note to refer to her old instructor and respected elder as “Desette”.

_ That’s going to take some time _ , she reckoned.

“We understand the situation here, with regards to the faith, is desperate,” Desette spoke, and raised her voice so that she could project herself to the significant crowd that had now gathered. The salt of the earth of Tauros, many of whom had never been beyond the borders of their own barony, appeared to be in awe of the strange foreigners who had just walked through their front door. 

“The letter did not do it justice. I fear there is more to the story,” Katherine told her.

“Then we must act quickly and debrief,” Desette insisted, and three of the Brown Sisters fell out of ranks and came up to her side, as if they were escorts. “You have accommodations for us?”

“We have some space, and of course weapons and materials,” Reynauld spoke up, sparing Katherine the embarrassment of being unable to answer such a question. “But food isn’t as easy to come by.”

“We will make do,” Desette decided, seemingly unfazed by the logistics concerns that Reynauld had mentioned. “We will manage.”

“Then walk with me. We’ll speak further inside the keep,” Katherine insisted. She had to bring Desette to Emilia now - it was time for their plan to begin taking shape. 


	8. The New Crusaders

“I was not expecting this.”

Emilia Lancette did not appear to be angry, but she was clearly not pleased with the fact that ~300 armed men and women had shown up on her doorstep not an hour ago. Such a significant event, especially in a village like Tauros, would be immediately noticed, and before Katherine had even arrived in the main hall Emilia had heard word of the congregation.

“I sent the letter without anyone’s approval. I am sorry,” Katherine said. She could feel her cheeks flushing scarlet, but saw no better way to go forward with this than to apologize. Emilia squinted at her, biting her lower lip as she did so, but relented within due time.

“It seems you thought this a wise decision,” she replied to Katherine. At that point Desette, who was accompanied by three stern-looking Brown Sisters bearing finely-crafted arming swords, spoke up.

“We were under the assumption that the barony had been informed of our arrival. If this presents a-”

“No, no. It’s not a problem, really,” Emilia brushed her off. Katherine, for a moment, had felt her chest tighten and her heart skip a beat. But Emilia did not seem terribly concerned, and Katherine saw an opportunity to explain herself and her reasoning before anything else happened. 

“I fear our time is limited. The threat I have been studying is growing in magnitude,” Katherine said. 

“Our borders have been quiet. Why do you say this?”

“The storms?”

Katherine’s first piece of evidence was also her best, particularly after the harrowing events of that morning. Certainly, the destruction wrought upon the shoreline would have come to Emilia’s attention by now, and indeed, she seemed to nod in agreement as Katherine continued on.

“I have spoken with Herod as well and we agree there’s a darker, more subtle force that’s gaining strength,” she said. 

“You talked about that before.”

“Yes, my-”

“Dreams are not a basis for action, I’m afraid,” Emilia said. Katherine stopped mid-sentence and almost felt a sharp sting of rejection, as though Emilia were nonchalantly brushing aside her concerns. Desette stood at Katherine’s side, silent but clearly paying attention and hanging on to every word. 

“It’s more than just the dreams. How do I explain it?”

“You tell me.”

“It’s something psychological. Affecting me. Affecting other people. Have you not felt it?”

Emilia sat back in her chair, thinking. Her response came only after a few laborious seconds, as she mulled over her words.

“Fatigue, perhaps. I have felt it unusually so. I wish you had more plain evidence.”

“I’m afraid that’s it. I said it was subtle,” Katherine admitted. 

“You did.”

At that point Desette spoke up once again, and lifted Katherine’s spirits, intentionally or otherwise.

“I think what Miss...Katherine is talking about is legitimate,” she said. “The faith has studied such subjects before. The forces of evil and darkness turn to tactics of subtle manipulation more often than not.”

“You believe the things she said?” Emilia asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

_ That might not be enough to convince her, but it will sure give her some food for thought _ , Katherine knew. She was glad that Desette had stepped up and spoken her mind. Katherine doubted that her own tongue would have been charismatic enough to argue her point. The last time they had spoken, she had not been doing so well; the only thing that saved her was the sudden appearance of Alasdair and his captive, the rambling madman. 

“I suppose anything is possible,” Emilia admitted begrudgingly. 

“Have you read the scripture, my lady?” Desette asked.

“Yes.” The brevity of the answer suggested something along the lines of  _ I don’t want to talk about this.  _ Desette clearly didn’t pick up on it, and began lecturing Emilia on an obscure part of the Chansons that dealt with “the realm of thought” and the importance of the soul. Even Katherine tuned her out a bit, but thankfully she did not drag on for too long. 

“Desette speaks truly,” Katherine added, hoping that it would be enough to convince Emilia. “The threat transcends physical. And we need to act now.”

“Have you learned anything more since we last spoke?” Emilia asked. 

“A little bit from the madman. The things he said...there’s some sense in them,” Katherine informed her. 

_ Down in the church.  _ That was what Katherine remembered the most. There was definitely something sensible in that. He was challenging Katherine, to go  _ down in the church.  _ Something would be waiting for her down there.

She explained that to Emilia quickly, who wrote something down on a sheaf of parchment.

_ Always taking notes. Admirable.  _

“I see,” Emilia said. “I welcome the Brown Sisters and the people of the faith to this town. I have my concerns, though, even if I am satisfied with your  _ raison d’etre _ .”

“We will be happy to address your concerns,” Desette promised.

“Logistics,” Emilia continued. “Is what worries me the most. Will you be sheltering and feeding yourselves?”

“Shelter, we have. Food, we can manage,” Desette replied.

“Manage?” Emilia did not like that word; it was vague, and vagaries were dangerous. 

“We could use some assistance. We have three-hundred and fifteen people to feed.”

“That’s a lot to be asking of us,” Emilia warned. 

“Any assistance you can grant would be helpful,” Desette said. 

“Anything?”

“We can provide for the rest ourselves,” she promised. “We have supplies of our own, we can resupply some, and we can forage.”

“We will do what we can,” Emilia said. “But you cannot expect much.”

“Your hospitality is a gift enough,” Desette said, as if to assuage her. It seemed to work, as Emilia’s features softened and she set her notes aside, seemingly content with the results of their meeting. 

“Then welcome to the village of Tauros. We will be more than happy to accomodate you,” Emilia said, acting as gracious as possible. “You are dismissed.”

Desette curtsied with surprising grace and humility and turned on her heels quickly, her escorts following her out of the room. Katherine was about to follow, but Emilia clicked her tongue and stopped her in her tracks.

“Not you,” she said, her voice unnervingly curt. “You stay for a moment.”

Emilia waited until the great double doors had closed. Katherine stood on the spot, feeling blood rushing to her cheeks, wondering if she was about to receive a legendary castigation. 

“This was a bold and dangerous move, Katherine,” she said. “Why didn’t you inform me?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine admitted. She wasn’t lying; it had been a spur of the moment decision, done hastily in the middle of the night when her fear was most rampant. Now that she was being challenged over it, she realized what a poor decision it had been.

“I really wish you had consulted me,” Emilia informed her. Her tone wasn’t angry, but rather disappointed - that almost hurt worse. 

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re here all the same now, though,” Emilia said, sighing. “Can’t turn back the clock.”

“I’m sorry,” Katherine reiterated. She wasn’t quite sure what else she could say.

“Like I said, can’t turn back the clock,” Emilia brushed her off. “But now the onus is on you.”

“To do what?”

“To make this worthwhile.”

* * *

 

Two hours later, Katherine was still pondering what her employer was expecting of her now. Emilia had been quite vague with her final words, and Katherine was still poring over the plethora of potential assignments that could have come from them. 

_ Strike out. Scourge this land. Give us life. _

That could mean so many things, but Katherine was most dead set on finding the nexus of what was causing the most recent disturbances in the peninsula. Whatever it was, it was more subtle and perhaps even more sinister than the necromancer they had encountered weeks ago. 

_ It may be buried beneath the earth, though. They both share that quality,  _ she thought to herself.  _ Down in the church. Down.  _

She had been waiting at the entryway of Desette’s tent for about half an hour now. Initially, the brown sisters guarding the main door had informed her that their leader would only be occupied for about five minutes, and would be able to speak to her shortly. Five minutes turned into ten, however, and now it had taken so much time that one of the sisters had taken it upon herself to brew up some strong, almost flavorless black tea for Katherine. Katherine had accepted the boiling hot brew without word, and was still waiting patiently when the forty minute mark rolled around. Not long after that, Desette arrived, apologizing profusely and bidding Katherine to follow her further into the tent. 

The interior of the tent beyond the entryway was lavish, far more luxurious than Katherine had been expecting. Carpets of varying tenacity and size had been laid out upon the grassless ground, some simple furniture had been set up, and a miniature bookcase had even been assembled for Desette’s small collection of tomes. The bed in the corner also appeared rather comfortable, quite unlike the rugged leather bedrolls that many of the attendant zealots and Brown Sisters would be sleeping in.

“I apologize for taking so long. We are getting ourselves acquainted with your village,” Desette said, taking a seat at her service desk and quickly filing some slips of parchment away. As she sat down in a chair of her own, Katherine chose to stand, hoping that they would not be taking an excessive amount of time.

“Now, do tell me the reason for your visit?”

“To prepare you,” Katherine informed her quickly. “For what you’ll see here.”

Desette frowned but her silence allowed Katherine to continue.

“My letter barely scratched the surface. The evil that lurks here is one unlike anything we have seen before,” she said. 

“The order is experienced with-”

“I’m not talking about witchcraft in the woods or a mindless heresy,” Katherine interrupted. “This evil is intellectual, deep, and dangerous. It is something out of our old stories, things we have never seen ourselves.”

Desette’s frown deepened but by her silence, Katherine could tell that she was listening with interest. Perhaps she was even starting to see the truth of the matter - that this would be no glorious expedition, but a bloody slog that may take a terrible toll. 

“I wish I could tell you exactly what we’re facing. If I knew myself, I would.”

“How long have you been here, Katherine?”

Desette’s question felt a little out of place, but she also felt obligated to answer it.

“Only a couple months. Coming up on three, I would say,” Katherine replied. 

“You would say?”

“Time is weird here,” she said. “I...have lost some track of it.”

“I see,” Desette said. “You’ve seen much here?”

“More than I’d like.”

“Tell me.”

_ What can I say? Other than the truth _ , Katherine thought. But should she tell the whole truth, or pare it down to spare Desette the horror? She decided on the latter, but even that seemed to move the newcomer.

“And that’s all true?” Desette asked when Katherine had finished her brief retelling of the events of the past three months.

“I swear on my eternal soul.”

“You swear?”

Desette pored over her promise, and bit her lower lip. Katherine had omitted some terrible details, but had ensured that the main course of the grotesque meal had been presented.

“Then it is good that we have come here,” she finally decided. “Our help is needed.”

Katherine silently agreed, nodding her head in approval. 

“Of course, we are more used to rooting out heresy and spreading the good word than actual fighting,” Desette added, and Katherine’s spirit flagged a bit. For a moment, she wondered to herself if Desette was reneging on her original promise to help. 

That was not the case, however.

“But this will be valuable experience, and a valuable chance at changing the world for the better,” she said, and Katherine felt relieved. At that moment, the interior tent flap opened and a serving sister came in with two cups of tea, smelling strongly of mint and juniper. Katherine could immediately tell that this brew was of higher quality, and gladly accepted the gift.    
“A challenge of our strength and faith is one we will all gladly accept,” Desette informed her as the two women began sipping on their tea. 

“I am glad for your enthusiasm,” Katherine said. “But I must-”

“Whatever you face, we have more than enough power to face it too,” Desette said, as if preempting Katherine’s concerns. Katherine could feel her mood sour, but let the matter go. 

_ Don’t discourage them _ , a more optimistic voice in her head said.  _ She’s right.  _

“I have with me three-hundred and fifteen attendants, including eighty-seven Brown Sisters,” Desette rattled off, having memorized the composition of her caravan over the tenure of her long journey north. 

“And the rest?”

“Camp followers. Cooks. Spirited adventurers. Zealots.” Katherine noticed that the last word was said with the slightest hint of malice. 

“A diverse lot.”

“All marching towards the same goal, though,” Desette promised, as though afraid that Katherine had begun to doubt. “We are all united.”

“I am certain of it.”

“Of course, such a large convoy is not easily maintained,” Desette went on. “We will need some time before we act.”

“How much time?” Katherine made her perturbation evident; she could smell and feel hesitation on Desette’s part.  _ Faint, but present. Perhaps she’s just now realizing what she’s gotten into.  _

“Well, I’ve been going over logistics problems with some of my senior sisters-”

“Logistics?”

“Food. Basics. Medicine, too, will be needed,” said Desette. “Things Tauros can perhaps provide.”

“That is not something I can help with,” Katherine said curtly.

“Of course, of course.”

“You’ll need to talk to the Baroness.”

“Beyond that, we’ll need some time.”

“Time?”

“Before we strike out and begin our campaign here. Time to collect ourselves, gird ourselves, and pray,” said Desette. 

“I see no issue with that,” Katherine said. It was only normal for some time for reflection and prayer, anyway.  _ We all need that at this time.  _

“Three days,” Desette said, her tone that of certainty. “Three days, we will need. After that, we march.”


	9. Here for You

The first incident occurred on the first day. Even though the town guardsmen had dealt with the situation with haste and were quick to disperse the truculent and unsavory types who had gathered to witness the scene, the news spread regardless.

_ Two foreigners got into a brawl with a few of our people _ , the townsfolk had whispered.  _ Fighting over words. Something bad.  _

Katherine did not know the specifics but she could put the pieces together. The recent outbreak of undeniable heresy, which she had witnessed with her own eyes, was likely the root cause of such trouble. When the iron will of the faithful met the bone-headed determination of the faithless, such incidents would occur and cause tremors throughout the town.

On the second day, several of the zealots marched through town, chanting and crying out and condemning those whom they defined as “heretical” and “unworthy”. That had unsettled many, and a late-night gathering at the tavern to discuss the unnerving event had resulted in a drunken brawl, the causes of which remained unknown. 

The third day had been quiet, but Katherine could tell that the entire town was anxious. She could see it in the eyes of passerby, and observe it in their unsteady and hesitant movements. It was as if they were all becoming cognizant of the antediluvian evils congenital to the land beneath their feet, and the arrival of Desette’s caravan had been the catalyst. 

_ Quiet now, though _ , Katherine observed as she stood upon the keep’s parapets, overlooking the sprawling temporary camp set up by the Brown Sisters and their attendants adjacent to the town’s seat of power. A few rows of white tents were surrounded by several dozen crude tents of primitive materials and mediocre craftsmanship - these, she knew, belonged to the zealots and flagellants who had joined the train. 

_ Not the friendliest folk _ , she had noted, as they had treated even her with mistrust and caution. They kept to themselves, retaining only their whips and their battered prayer books for company, even avoiding one another with the exception of group worship and penance services. 

Katherine heard footsteps behind her but knew without even looking that it was Reynauld, judging by the confidence of his step. Doubtless, the gallant crusader had noticed her up on the ramparts and was coming up to check on her.

_ Always the caring guardian _ , she thought, as she turned around to face him. 

But it was not Reynauld. 

The man who stood before her was a good head taller than her, with broad shoulders like a bull and the muscular arms of a man who was all too familiar with his sword. A thick cloak of white wool, worn by the elements but still imposing, swathed most of his body, and his trousers and boots looked as though they had been pared out of the same leather. In place of a human face he wore a mask of bronze, dully gleaming and pockmarked in several places. Katherine, for a moment, wondered if this stranger was seeking her for nefarious purposes. But a moment passed in silence, and it was clear that he meant no harm.

“My apologies. I frightened you?” 

“No, it’s okay,” Katherine said. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. You are a Brown Sister?”

“I am,” she replied, though she wanted to distance herself from the congregation below as much as she could. 

“I want your blessing.”

His voice was muffled by the mask and he almost sounded... _ bored _ . His tone was inert and his speech was laconic, yet nevertheless he sounded genuine. 

“You want my blessing?”

“Please.” There was no mistaking that his request was serious, and that he was truly interested in receiving holy rites from Katherine. Being of the order and capable of providing such rites, she had no choice but to have him kneel before her there on the parapets and give him a few brief blessings, touching his armor-clad shoulders gently with a caring hand. He remained still throughout the entire process, and only moved when she bid him to rise to his feet once more.

“Thank you, sister,” he said, and placed his own gloved, heavy hand on her shoulder with gentle gratitude.

“It is my holy duty and my pleasure,” she returned gracefully. “Why do you ask for blessings?”

“We are departing soon,” said the masked stranger, with a tone that made it sound like a mere daytrip. 

“Departing?”

The man moved his head ever so subtly, nodding towards the vacant, lonely manor sitting atop the moor upon the horizon. A cold chill ran through Katherine’s blood like a knife.

“When? How soon?” she asked. She had heard nothing of it, but it  _ was  _ the third day after all. 

“A few hours. They did not give me an exact time,” the stranger said, shrugging his hefty shoulders. “Are you coming?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps it is wise that we stick together,” he suggested. “United in faith.”

Despite the fact that she had met this man no more than five minutes ago, she no longer felt uncomfortable with him. He was a brother in faith, after all, though he was unusually well-geared for a follower of the Order, and he was a quiet and well-mannered man. She agreed to stick with him for the time being, though she wanted to find Reynauld most of all and pray before striking out up the hill. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name before, if you told me,” Katherine said as they walked down the battlements, making their way towards the campgrounds. 

“Jean-Baptiste,” the man replied, once again impressively laconic and sounding bored. “I am sure you’ve seen me around.”

“I have.”  _ You’re hard to miss.  _

“I have been serving here for perhaps a month. I intend to stay for longer.”

“That’s good,” Katherine replied, not quite sure of how to answer. “We need men like you.”

“We need prayer and strong blades,” was his reply, and that left Katherine speechless. Thankfully, as they rounded the cornerstones of the left-hand gatehouse tower, she spotted Reynauld a few other men emerging from the keep, dressed for combat and moving at a brisk pace. He did not even recognize her from behind his plate visor, and she had to call his name to get his attention.

“My apologies,” Reynauld hastily admitted, with an appropriate amount of sheepishness, and lifted his visor as the two greeted each other. 

“Is it time?” Katherine asked. 

“We’re departing very soon. The newcomers are supposed to be rallying anytime now,” Reynauld told her. 

“Nobody informed me.”

“Someone was supposed to inform you.”

A great cry arose from the campground nearby at that moment, signaling to them that something was going on. They moved quickly out of the keep compound, taking a left turn at the gatehouse and moving down the street towards the camp, where hasty movements could be seen among the tents. From a distance, Katherine could only vaguely tell what was ongoing; camp fires were being put out, men were gathering their belongings, and a number of people were chanting and shouting together in a disturbing chorus of unruly masculine voices. 

_ One could be forgiven if they thought that the end times were near _ , Katherine thought, as she was overtaken by Reynauld and one of his attendants. The strange warriors around him appeared to be men of Tauros, as they bore the emblem of the Lancette family on their pauldrons. 

As they moved into the camp, they could see armed zealots, unarmed Sisters, and a variety of other unsavory types lining up in ranks towards the center of camp, all guided by the chanting of the radicals and prepared to do their duty. Katherine spied Desette but the woman appeared busy, beset by her comrades on all sides and dispensing orders with impressive clarity. For an older and smaller woman, she certainly knew how to project her voice. 

“What are we going to be doing?” Katherine asked Reynauld as she sidled up to him. The zealots around them, armed with a variety of spears and crude implements and wearing only brown or stained gray robes, looked pitiful compared to the small squad of well-armored and imposing men. Katherine felt out of place, even though she knew that her place was at Reynauld’s side, aiding him as he charged into battle like a fist of the faith. 

“Well, we’re in the lead of this,” Reynauld told her. 

“Of course we are.”

“The vanguard. They will follow closely behind.”

“Who else is coming?”

“I don’t know. Your new friend?”

Katherine glanced behind her and realized that Jean-Baptiste had been following, even though he had remained a few paces back. She now noticed his massive broadsword, its cutting edge chipped and its gleam marred by rust - though it had seen better days, it was nonetheless imposing and could still decapitate a man in one mighty blow. 

_ I certainly hope that is used for good purposes _ , she thought of the blade. Jean-Baptiste either did not know that she was staring back at him, or did not care, for he stood stock still a few feet back, beside a few rugged and stern-looking zealots. 

“He’s not my friend,” Katherine whispered, “but he is a brother.”

“We could use a sword like that on our side.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“Seen him around.”

They fell quiet as they watched Desette and a few attendants, wearing polished bronze breastplates and short swords sheathed at their sides, march in front of the whole assembly. Desette took a few seconds to look over her attendant faithful, studying them as if attempting to descry their faults, but quickly progressed to her speech, which she of course began with an incantation. 

“Great Light above, you honor us today with your strength and luminosity, which we-”

Katherine had heard these words a thousand times.  _ Hopefully she chooses the regular version, and not the extended one.  _ Mercifully, she did, and proceeded from there. 

“For the past two weeks we have sailed, ridden, and marched to the aid of this village named Tauros,” Desette announced. “The people here are pious and brave, and the faith is strong.”

Katherine knew that was an exaggeration, if not an outright lie.  _ Perhaps she knows, and is dissatisfied with the truth. I can’t blame her.  _

The aggravating gnawing in the back of her head returned, and she felt her stomach twist into a knot as foul thoughts entered her head. Unwanted and unbidden, they came anyway, and she struggled to listen to Desette as her speech continued. 

“Today, after our tenure of fasting and praying, we march out to strike a fatal blow against the evil forces here.”

A few voices in the assembly cried out, but were quickly silenced. Some zealots were simply too zealous for their own cause.

“We will purify the land, the halls beneath it, and whatever we may come across with our strength and brilliance!”

Katherine started to feel ill. She clutched at her stomach but realized quickly that the discomfort was a phantom phenomenon, and that she was under some kind of psychological assault. She glanced around at her neighbors to see if they were suffering in a similar fashion, but if they were none of them betrayed any hint of it.

“So let us march forth, three abreast, into the heart of the ruins atop that mighty moor! We shall light up the darkness and bring it to heel!”

As Desette’s rallying cry finished, a raucous cheer rose up from the assembled zealots. The brown sisters, as usual, began silently falling into their ranks, three abreast as commanded, and trooped out like loyal little soldiers towards the nearest exit. The zealots were more disorganized, and resembled an unruly mob of truculent vermin more than any kind of effective fighting force, but Desette did not seem to mind. She was concerned with her own sisters, not with the unruly flesh that had adhered to her campaign without her consent.

Katherine found herself swept along in the column, Reynauld and Jean-Baptiste nearby. She attempted to remain at Reynauld’s side, but found within seconds that another arm had gripped hers and pulled her away, separating her from her loyal attendant. 

“Katherine. My sister.”

Desette was standing there, now dressed in simple armor and bearing a brilliant smile on her face. 

“March with me at the front. We will bring the Light everywhere we go.”

Katherine could not refuse. She returned the unnervingly broad smile and moved like water with Desette, parting the crowd and rising to the front of the line while trying to mask her fear behind a thin veneer of calm. The zealots, arrayed in ragged rows around the main column of Sisters, began to chant and cry to one another, verses haranguing her ears in multiple languages, and the only thing Katherine could do was bite her tongue and quietly whisper comforting words as the procession moved out of the camp, through the main streets of town, and towards the northern gate. 

The northern gate admitted them to the hinterland between the hamlet and the luxurious estate whose ruins atop the moor beckoned them onward. Although every pair of eyes in the column could see the ruined stonework and menacing wreckage ahead, none of them hesitated or stopped.

_ Such is the power of the heart _ , Katherine thought _ , that it will lead us to what may be our very doom.  _

* * *

 

“Your map is not too handy.”

Desette frowned at the parchment in her hands, and then at Katherine, as though expecting her severe reaction to merit a hasty apology. Katherine can do nothing but frown in return.

_ Blame Dismas for that _ , she wanted to say.  _ The highwayman can’t draw or write, he would be better off sticking to his blades.  _

But there was no way that reply would work for Desette. After a few moments the elder sister’s gaze softened and she turned her head to look straight once more, staring off into the darkness that was slowly being disintegrated by their approaching candlelight. 

The front line of Brown Sisters bore the brightest candles, contained within tiny brass lanterns engraved with the sigils of the Light and its attendant orderlies. The zealots, as always, were less organized and had brought their own lights and details, and some were still chanting, though their voices sounded more suppressed.

_ This places does have that effect on you _ , Katherine thought, and could feel her hands involuntarily balling up into tight, anxious fists. Though they moved down the main trunk hallway unopposed, their light swallowing up the darkness, the narrower corridors that branched off remained dark and frightful. Katherine could not help but glance down each and every one as they passed, and could feel her heart begin beating faster and faster as they descended, her own thoughts beginning to betray her.

_ This isn’t going to end well. _

_ You know that, don’t you? You know in your heart but your cowardice won out. _

She could hear an argument breaking out from somewhere back in the column. She wondered where Reynauld was, and if he was worried about her.

_ He’s not worried about you _ , that voice that sounded too much like her own said.  _ He has forgotten about you. And why do you think that is?  _

Desette said something but she didn’t process it. She was focused on the mentally excruciating task of repelling the malicious thoughts now assailing her with renewed fervor.

_ You have allowed everyone to come down here to their deaths. Why did you do that? _

_ No answer? Of course you don’t have the answers. You don’t know what you’re doing.  _

For some time Katherine felt like she was the only one struggling to keep her feet moving forward. But a brief observation of the men and women around her confirmed her fears that this was not an isolated phenomenon. The pace of the column became slower as they descended grand staircases and moved further downward into the endless catacombs of the Lancette estate, and the chanting and hymns stopped as the silence reigned supreme. 

Desette seemed to feel it, too, as she slowed her pace and began glancing around nervously, as though expecting unwanted company.

“Do you feel it?” Katherine asked, the words escaping her lips before she could even consider their gravity.

“Feel-”

“It’s this place,” she said. “Can you feel it?”

Desette’s forehead gleamed with sweat and her jaw clenched as she tensed up. She stopped in her tracks after a few seconds and the entire column, confused and disoriented, stopped behind her. 

“Baran,” Desette called out, and from farther back bodies shifted and armor clattered. From the front line of Brown Sisters a man in leather cuirass and battered bronze pauldrons emerged, with a few lightly-armored, coarse men at his back.

“My lady?”

The man named Baran was surprisingly polite and quiet, given his rough appearance and untamed facial hair. He stood at Desette’s side, putting his burly body between her and Katherine, and awaited orders.

“Tell your men to keep on the flanks and be ready for a fight,” Desette ordered. “I fear we are nearing trouble.”

“Of course.”

Baran, without another utterance, moved back with his attendant men, and barked a few brief, hoarse orders to some other members of the force. Katherine could feel the anxiety latent in the column, as men and women alike waited with anticipation for their forward march to resume. For a time the voices were suppressed, but Katherine knew that they would only be amplified as they moved further into the seemingly interminable complex.

“Baran is the captain of the mercenaries I have assembled,” Desette explained as they began moving forward again. Now two leather-clad mercenaries, armed with voulges, were moving in front of them, forming a small vanguard for the party as they arrived at yet another broad staircase leading down into even deeper gloom.

“How many do you have?”

“Only fifteen. But it will suffice,” said Desette. “He is a good man.”

“Of course.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairwell when a foul wind blew in their direction, bearing with it the stink of the grave and ages’ worth of unchecked decomposition. Some of the lights went out; others sputtered and came back to life but did not possess the same brilliance that they had before. Katherine could feel the darkness thickening like churned cream around her, and a sudden chill caused her to shudder involuntarily as the gloom ahead seemed now to be impenetrable. She stopped in her tracks, and so did Desette. They both felt it.

“There’s something out there.”

“You feel it now?”

Desette set the map aside, pushing it into the nearest available pocket, and reached for her mace. The mercenaries ahead of them lowered their weapons, peering into the gloom but seeing nothing. The lanterns could only reach so far, and the depth of their light was failing now as the shadows closed in on them. In the distance, far ahead down the hallway, the sound of something scuffing against the forgotten stones could be heard. 

“What was that?”

Desette jumped.

_ You wonder what it is too, don’t you?  _ The voice in her head was returning now, with more clarity than ever before.  _ Wouldn’t you like to know?  _

“Baran!” Desette shouted.

Someone to the rear asked a question, wondering why they had stopped. Some of the column waited at the top of the stairs, and Katherine wondered if they, too, could hear a voice of their own.

Baran forced his way through the crowd and up to Desette. The mercenaries in the front were visibly shaking.

“Defensive positions,” Desette ordered. “It’s time.”

Her voice was cracking but she managed to maintain her commanding tone. Baran shouted a few orders and from the crowd several men armed with spears and voulges stepped out, covering the flanks as more sounds could be heard in the darkness. All that Katherine could hear were footsteps, light and barely audible, and she wished that she were anywhere else in the world at that moment. 

_ Can you hear them? Hear them all? They’re coming for you. _

At the very moment that a sudden rush of fear lanced through Katherine’s veins, the sounds of perhaps a hundred footfalls reached her ears. From every side movement could be heard, and within seconds they were upon her.

_ They’re here.  _

Katherine could not hear the voice any longer as the howling maniacs leapt out of the brumal fog before her. The first mercenary stood no chance, and was brought to the floor instantly as three madmen pounced upon him without warning. The second was luckier and managed to impale one on his voulge, but was accosted by a second opponent and struggled to fight back as he was battered around the head. Katherine was lucky enough that Baran was nearby, as one of the ghoulish wights nearly caught her in a leaping attack. The mercenary captain, his skills honed by perhaps decades of fighting for the various duchies and earldoms of the North, was quick to draw and gutted the frenzied man within a second, sparing Katherine a painful injury and perhaps even death.

Their enemies were everywhere. They were once men - bandits, thieving malcontents, villagers who lived on the outskirts of Tauros county - but all traces of reason and sensibility they had once possessed had abandoned them. They were little more than wild beasts now, driven mad and ensnared by some unknown power whose true purpose remained reticent. Their facial features were wracked with rage and their clothes, already tattered and torn, were at this point little more than filthy rags. 

“Guard the column!” Baran shouted. 

“Sisters, with me!” Desette cried, and simultaneously began reciting a hymn that Katherine had long forgotten, as if to inspire her sisters into battle. It had no effect on the wildmen surrounding them, but as more and more of the assembled sisters began adding their voices to the chorus the mercenaries regrouped, the zealots held their ground, and the bodies of slain madmen began to pile up around them. Poorly armed and devoid of reason, the madmen stood no chance once their opponents regained control of the situation and held their ground. 

For perhaps a minute, Katherine felt her confidence surge. With Baran on one side and Desette on the other, all three of them well-armed and now aware of how to handle their aggressors, she felt like they were in control. But that feeling of elation was washed away like sand in a tide when the torches began to sputter and the cold wind took them once more.

Shouts and cries of surprise could be heard from many. Exposed torches and candles guttered and went silent, and those with encased lanterns were barely able to keep their flames alive. No one near Katherine was able to maintain their light, and she was plunged into darkness without warning as foul whispers crept into her ears, borne on by the unnatural wind that caressed her shoulders and neck like a foul man with sick intentions.

_ Can you feel me, Katherine Adelbard?  _ the voice asked her, slithering across the nape of her neck like uninvited fingers creeping along her skin.  _ Hear me? Feel me? Feel my voice. _

Baran roared and brought his weapon down on something, and the sickening sound of bone and flesh splitting and tearing made Katherine cringe. In the darkness, she could see isolated splotches of light to her rear, swaying and scampering around, but she could not make out anything around her. 

Then she fell to the ground, knocked over by the impact of a powerful body. She collapsed to the floor, falling on something fleshy and warm, and began screaming.

_ Come to me, Katherine. Come down to the church. For me.  _

 

Katherine had been out of breath for some time before she stopped running. She had been ceaseless in her flight, knowing that she would be pursued, yet when she stopped to rest and recuperate briefly she heard nothing but distant shouting and a cold, unbidden breeze tousling her hair. 

_ You’re getting closer, Katherine,  _ the voice said, as though its speaker was standing right beside her.  _ Why don’t you come here? Alone? I want to see you...just you… _

Katherine shuddered and pressed her back against the cold stone wall behind her, as though that would help to block out the voice. It did nothing to help.

_ Where did everyone go? You abandoned them, didn’t you?  _

Katherine gripped the hilt of her battered mace tightly, trying to seek some comfort in her isolation and despair. She could hear the sounds of fighting from somewhere farther away, but at that very moment she was completely alone.

_ No, not completely _ , the voice reminded her.  _ I’m here. Why do you not want me there?  _

She would give no response. Didn’t matter. He’d keep talking.

And she  _ knew  _ that it was a he.

_ I can give you the respite you want...I can stop this...all I need you to do is come and see me, see my flesh, my body… _

Only a  _ he  _ could be so insipid and insistent, so malicious in intent. The voice was masculine, sure, but Katherine knew that voices could be like masks, altered and adjusted to camouflage the truth. But she could tell that whatever was dealing with her was male, at least at heart. 

_ You’re not far now. So close to the bottom...yet so far away. _

Katherine could hear something in the hallway. A few brief thumps, then silence again. Perhaps it was nothing at all, or perhaps it was her own heart beating, trying to keep her alive and on her feet.

_ Do you know what’s at the bottom? Below the church? Below the vile tunnels? Below the- _

Katherine could take it no longer. She withdrew her mace from its cinch, screamed, and swung it through thin air, as though that would dissipate the voice and give her peace and quiet.

Well, she thought it was thin air.

The mace impacted something with a sickening crunch, and she was splattered with a warm, viscous fluid that could only be blood.

_ Human blood _ , she knew, by the metallic smell and the constitution of it. Something shrieked, gurgled, and then crumpled to the floor, splattering her greaves and boots with more blood. In the darkness, she could see nothing, but she knew that what she had killed was no longer a functioning human being. 

_ Still human, yes _ , she knew.  _ But not like me. Not like...Reynauld. _

The madman fell silent and for a moment, Katherine was left in the dark once more, surrounded by an alien blackness that threatened to consume her at any given moment.

But farther ahead, at the very edges of her limited vision, a lone light pierced the veil and made itself known to her, as if crying out  _ Here I am! Here is help! Come to me!  _

Katherine, who had been stumbling around in the darkness, was thrilled to see a light in the distance. She began running towards it, heedless of her own safety or the concerns of the strangers bearing the lamp, and did not stop until she heard the sound of armor clanking and a weapon being raised, ready to swing. 

Then she could see them. Through the foreign mist that filled the halls like a noxious poison, she could descry three figures standing before her - two familiar, one strange - and immediately cried the name of one.

“Reynauld!”

The figures recognized her voice and visibly relaxed, and Reynauld stepped forward, until they could see one another. She wanted to hug him, but he hesitated and stepped back a bit as she approached. With his visor down, she could not see his eyes, but she knew what he had seen.

“Is it-”

“Not mine,” Katherine quickly corrected, looking down at the blood spattered all over her cuirass. “One of them.”

The knight gave a satisfied nod and turned to his companions. One of them Katherine recognized - the quiet and subdued man-in-the-mask, the broadsword-wielding Jean-Baptiste. The other was a stranger but held a weathered voulge in her hands and wore blood-spattered leather hauberk and cuirass, the same gear that Baran had worn. She took the woman for a mercenary.

“We’re glad we found you,” Reynauld said, holding the lantern aloft. “This damn darkness-”

“I am glad you’re alive, sister,” the masked man said.  _ Simple as always _ , she thought.

“We need to find Desette and go further down,” she said. No time for pleasantries in such a desolate place.

“Disagreed,” Jean-Baptiste said flatly. “We need to retreat.”

“Katherine, while I-”

“We have to keep going!” Katherine insisted. “We’re so close. We need to put an end to it.”

Both Reynauld and Jean-Baptiste looked around, seeking a satisfactory reply. At that very moment, Katherine would have killed to be able to see their eyes and attempt to read their thoughts. Visor and mask, respectively, prevented this and left her standing there, anxious and unnerved, as they took their time in responding.

The darkness seemed to swirl around them like smoke, grasping at their bodies in any place where it could find purchase. It  _ was  _ almost smoky, as though something had manipulated the absence of light at its very core and made it something more tangible, malevolent, and almost alive. Not even the light of the lantern could protect them fully, even though it gave some comfort.

The voice was in the back of her head but Katherine, bathed in sweat and painted with another’s blood, had no energy left to heed it at the time. 

“We have to keep going!” she reiterated.

There was no time left, she felt. The tension was gnawing away at her and soon she would be nothing but bone. She was about ready to leap upon Reynauld and shake him to his senses when he made up his mind. 

“We will follow Katherine,” he declared, and nobody protested.

“But first, we need to find the others,” she reminded them. 

“Many are dead,” Jean-Baptiste said. 

“Then we will find the living,” Katherine declared. Nobody protested that, either. 

It would not take them long. Perhaps two minutes later, the sounds of intensifying battle carried to them, and Reynauld took the lead as he began running headlong towards the din of the fray. Katherine could only outpace him and rush forward as they came upon an open foyer filled with struggling bodies, each one of them filthy, bloodied, and desperate to survive.

Katherine virtually crashed into the first man, a frothing creature with emaciated cheeks and a snarl on his face. The madman turned to her, raising a rugged club of rotting wood to strike, but she struck the first blow and sent him sprawling backwards, his jaw fractured in the process. Katherine’s stalwart iron mace, an object she had rarely found a use for before, was now her most trusted companion as it impacted with armor and bone alike with ease. She took down another, and another, before the room began to fall silent as the last of the madmen collapsed. 

Desette emerged from the chaos with more than a few unanticipated bruises and scrapes, and some of the zealots were suffering from significant flesh wounds, their blood staining their stained and dirty garments. They did not seem to mind, however, as they regrouped and hailed their victory together, praising the light for banishing the darkness. The darkness, it would seem, did not receive the message that it had been banished; it clung to their bodies and weapons even more tightly, refusing to be dissipated by the candlelight even as they regrouped and caught their breath.

“A brief respite,” Desette was saying to no one in particular, before turning her eyes to Katherine. “They will return.”

“We have to press on,” Katherine insisted. 

“We have lost a dozen Sisters. Others are injured,” Desette replied. Her gaudy joy had been replaced with a grim acceptance of the current situation. 

“We have come all this way,” Katherine said, feeling tension building in her weary muscles. “We cannot leave here without finishing this.”

“There can be another day,”

“No. We have to do this. What else did you come here for?”

Desette could not walk away from such a challenge. To do so would be to invalidate the very idealistic mindset that drove her to the edge of the continent in the first place. She swallowed her fear, straightened her back, and nodded her head in response. 

“Will you march with me, Sister?” Katherine asked, as if to seal the deal.

“We bear the Light forward together.”

Reynauld and Jean-Baptiste seemed to silently approve of the pious exchange. The remaining mercenaries did not seem to care, and the zealots were too enamored with the shedding of their own blood to come to terms with anything else. But they all fell back into line and marched forward, moving through empty halls doused in a darkness that felt thicker than pitch. It was not long before they descended a crumbling staircase, passed a series of antechambers resembling confessionaries, and reached the remains of a large bronze door, rusted with age and riddled with cracks and scars from decades of neglect, which blocked their passage forward. 

Katherine knew that this was the place. She signaled to Desette the same. And how did she know? Well, she wasn’t going to say it out loud, but a voice rose up in her head and told her, plain as day.

_ You’re here. Welcome.  _


	10. Down in the Church

The figure sitting at the back of the church, sitting upon a rotting wooden pew and nestled in the apse of the chancel, could hardly be called “human”. Even in the dim, suppressed light Katherine could make out a humped back, stooped figure, and unfettered eyes more befitting of a wild beast than any civilized man. Those eyes of his glowed in the approaching candlelight, and as he rose to greet his new guests Katherine noticed what he bore upon his shoulders. 

A dessicated, crumbling wooden stockade held his bony, gaunt forearms suspended in the air. One of his arms looked as though it were on the verge of breaking free from its imprisonment and, by doing so, rejoining the liberated whole, but the other appeared to be tightly locked into place by the unforgiving iron vice built into the broken stock. The creature wore little more than rags upon his body, and judging by the sparse gray hairs covering his mottled, bubo-covered thighs and emaciated torso he was a man at one point. 

He cackled at them and, with a mighty effort, flexed his right arm and splintered the rusting iron vice into twain, cracking open the wooden frame with it. His right hand now free, he reached into a small, filthy knapsack tucked against his hip and withdrew something. In the darkness and at such a distance, Katherine could not see what it was, but she was not about to wait and find out. 

“Sisters! To my side!” 

Desette had raised her weapon and was now reciting an incantation that Katherine knew all too well - they were going to light the room up and dispel the darkness as much as possible. Why they hadn’t done so earlier, Katherine was not sure, but something about the surprise nature of the attack might have been the cause. As the Brown Sisters gathered together, Katherine included, the surviving zealots and mercenaries that had managed to stick with the main group moved forward as if preparing to charge, ready to hack the cackling man to pieces. 

_ I’m glad you could come. Let me show you what I can do. You’ll be delighted to see. Just watch! _

The voice returned and with it, Katherine felt an intense pain centered in the back of her head, at that pivotal point where the spine meets the brain. She very nearly dropped her mace in her hurry to clutch at the back of her head, and found herself swaying and staggering as the pain became overwhelming. Other Sisters seemed to be affected as well, as they stopped short of completing their chant or doubled over, confused and visibly agonized. For a single moment, the room glowed with the intensity of their summoned light, but dimmed as several of the Sisters wavered. 

Though many stumbled, they did not all fall, and Katherine found herself back up on her feet, mace aloft and brimming with energy, as the deranged prophet before them found himself cornered by several armed men. Among them was Reynauld, swinging his heavy blade with intense force but missing as the surprisingly nimble prophet dodged each swipe. 

Seeing the hulking madman cornered and beset by so many obstacles, struggling to keep himself from suffering harm, Katherine felt for a short while like this would be a quick matter. One of the mercenaries would eventually find a weakness and sink his steel fangs into open flesh, she thought; and once that happened, the game was up for their wily opponent. And once the game was up, and once he had been remanded to whatever chaotic abyss he had been birthed from, their battle would be won and the Light would prevail.

But it would not be so.  _ Nothing is ever that easy _ , the voice reminded her in a tone that was almost taunting, and with a horrible shock Katherine realized that it could  _ hear  _ what she was thinking about. Terrified of the consequences of such an unprecedented ability, she vowed to try and seal her thoughts up as the prophet, speaking in a tongue incomprehensible to the sane mind, vaulted with surprising ease over a shattered wooden pew and forced the armed men to reorient themselves.

It was then that he began his incantation, and it was then that she and the others saw what he was holding in his free hand.

_ Light above _ , Katherine thought to herself.  _ Eyes. His own eyes.  _

Two eyes, thick with vitreous fluid and pulsating with an unnatural, detached sort of life, bored holes into her and everyone else as the prophet extended his arm and let his eyes sweep the room. As they did, and as he crooned foul words into the thick and malodorous air around him, Katherine could feel something stir within her. 

It was a nauseating feeling, originating first somewhere in her head and quickly sweeping her gut like a torrential wave. She felt despair, then anger, and then something bordering on outright fury. There was nothing else to accompany the unbidden emotions, as they existed well enough on their own, uninvited and unexpected. Katherine felt the light beaming from her mace flicker and weaken as it could no longer receive the passion and the energy it needed to live on. This same phenomenon happened to others, as well, and the lights in the room dimmed as the wave of anxiety seemed to take hold. 

Katherine saw the first woman turn on her compatriot to her left but was herself attacked before she could react. From behind, someone - one of the Brown Sisters, the name of which she would never know - leapt upon her back and threw her to the ground, her forehead narrowly missing the back edge of a pew. She collapsed to the floor and struggled to roll over onto her back, as she could feel teeth attempting to dig into her back shoulder. Her own Sister, too!

Katherine’s fury abated but did not dissipate entirely as survival instinct kicked in. She managed to flip herself over and in the process roll her attacker off to the side, just enough for her to grab her mace and prepare to strike. 

The Brown Sister that had attacked her was snarling and her face was twisted with rage and pain. She retained every human feature but no longer appeared to be of sound constitution, judging by her near-immediate transformation into some feral beast. Before she could attack again, Katherine lashed out with her mace. 

_ Please forgive me _ , she wanted to say. But she just wordlessly struck her Sister in the jaw, knocking her flat onto the cold stone. She brought the mace down once more, and the aggrieved woman did not rise again. 

Blood spattered the frigid cobblestones and abandoned pews as the Brown Sisters turned on one another. A few remained steadfast, reciting their hymns and standing in line and keeping the darkness at bay, but others had fallen prey to the insanity sweeping their ranks and had turned on their comrades. Desette, her facade of authority long since shattered, was shouting at the Sisters who were lucid enough to hear her, trying to restore order. She was nearly tackled by an enraged friend but a massive, armored figure with a tattered white cloak jumped into the fray and knocked the attacker aside.

Jean-Baptiste the swordsman, his mask drenched in blood, was struggling to avoid using lethal force but to no avail. As another wave of alien urges swept through Katherine’s body and brought her blood to an unholy boil, she watched as Jean-Baptiste knocked a particularly aggressive zealot back and brought his broadsword to bear. The zealot, unarmored and far from considerate of his own safety thanks to his feral state of mind, was nearly cut in twain. 

_ Look at them fall!  _ the voice mocked her, as its owner lashed out at a few distracted mercenaries with an iron chain and caught them off guard.  _ Weak minds, soft flesh. Wheat before my scythe! I can feel every one of them.  _

Katherine resisted the urge to give him any kind of validation, struggling enough as it was to stay on her feet and ignore the putrid, unwanted presence attempting to infiltrate her every thought. It was like trying to fight back a raging river; it would only be a matter of time. 

_ You see? They are weak. How easily they turn on one another! Penetrated, corrupted, berserked, it’s no matter...  _

Two zealots a few feet away were on the floor, wrestling with one another, bringing their filthy nails and gnashing teeth to bear. They ripped at their bare flesh and bit one another and made a generally unpleasant scene to behold. As Katherine sought a way around them one bit down into his comrade’s jugular; the wounded victim howled as his throat was torn out by several consecutive, vigorous bites, and he was soon silenced as his blood painted the stonework beneath him. 

_ Why resist?  _ the voice asked.

She would not reply. Desette was now standing her own ground, no longer capable of giving orders as she was fighting for her life. Perhaps a half dozen Sisters remained at her side, the rest resolving to be wild animals instead of women.

_ You’ll crack soon. You all will. Why struggle?   _

The insidious voice was alluring. It promised an end to the bad, and an end to the good - both, in equal measure, a respite from everything. It tittered again and again in her head, promising her an end to the insanity and the struggle and peace forever and ever. 

_ I can give it to you. Just allow it.  _

Yet Katherine was resolute, because she could see that Reynauld was still standing. He was one of the few still engaged with the prophet, even in spite of all the hellish chaos around them. The prophet, his bloodshot and terrifying eyes still grasped in his right hand, was using his left hand to wield one of the chains wrapped around his bony form, lashing out at anyone who attempted to strike him. The chain made short work of the mercenaries’ voulges, as it rendered them incredibly ineffective, but Reynauld’s skill with his blade was still giving the madman a challenge. The tittering prophet hissed and cackled at Reynauld, taunting him and prodding him to make a mistake. 

Katherine knew she had to intervene, even if it only meant standing by Reynauld’s side as the two of them were brought down together. Narrowly leaping out of the way of a charging zealot, blood and gore dripping from his lips, she left the safety of the remaining Sisters and rushed headlong towards Reynauld, figuring that was her best chance at survival.

She didn’t make it far before something heavy impacted her breastplate and sent her tumbling to the ground, the wind driven out of her system. Her vision blurred and her head ringing from the impact, she could not get to her feet before a heavy boot kicked her in the ribs and sent her sprawling against a nearby pew, gasping for breath. 

_ You wouldn’t give in to me. Maybe you will to him?  _

The disembodied voice taunted her as a wild-eyed, frothing Baran stood over her, mighty voulge in hand. The mercenary captain had been an authoritative, powerful presence less than an hour ago. Now he had been transformed into a terrifying monster of a man, his eyes red with bloodlust and his knuckles white as they gripped the haft of the weapon. There was little that Katherine could do except stare at his hateful eyes and try to remember the man he had once been before the monster killed her.

That monster never got the chance, though, as something else swooped in and took him before he could move. Katherine felt blood, hot and disgusting, shower her face as thick steel drove through Baran’s leather armor and gutted him. An armored shape moved through the darkness, withdrawing the blade, as Baran howled and fell to one knee, dark red blood gushing out of the gaping wound in his right flank. Katherine took the opportunity to rise to her feet, raise her mace, and bring it down on his head, splitting skin and skull open in one swift move and dropping him to the ground, his remaining life draining in seconds. 

_ Oh, he was disappointing! Maybe you are worthy of facing me.  _

The prophet cackled and stopped to face the two of them, as though waiting for them to make the next move.

Neither spoke to the other. Reynauld, breathing heavily, stood with his sword raised, ready to charge once more. Baran was now dealt with and the few mercenaries who remained lucid and stable were fighting off their berserked comrades, struggling to hold their ground against a flurry of savage attacks. Katherine watched out of the corner of her eye as one of the mercenaries, exhausted by the combat, was overwhelmed by three crazed zealots and beaten into the ground. He screamed as fists flailed at him and nails tore at his face, and Katherine had to avert her eyes from the disgusting scene to avoid retching. 

_ You feel it? Like your skull is about to crack! Doesn’t it hurt? It can be over right now.  _

The prophet’s voice promised, but Katherine would have none of it. She had fought him off for long enough now - how, she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to question it now - and Reynauld was at her side. They would finish it or die trying. Apparently, the prophet understood that too.

_ Don’t even try. You know how this ends.  _

He cackled, showing decomposing teeth and a long, dark pink tongue riddled with sores, before he lashed out with his chain. Katherine ducked to dodge the blow and Reynauld rushed forward, charging his enemy like a raging bull. 

The prophet, unsurprisingly, sidestepped the lunge, and Reynauld’s sword just barely missed his enemy’s ribs. The prophet brought his chain to bear and whipped Reynauld’s back with it, the metal glancing off metal with a dull, painful ring. Reynauld did not appear bothered and turned back around to square off once more, ignoring his exhaustion. 

The prophet did not seem to care if he was charging again. He turned instead to Katherine and, with a quick flick of his chain, hit her across the neck and shoulder with a surprising amount of force. For the third time that day, Katherine went down to the floor, her skin burning with an excruciating pain where the cold chain had made such harsh contact. She dropped her mace and her hands raced to her throat, struggling to contain the pain as it lanced across her neck and through her shoulder, which was already throbbing. 

_ Pathetic _ , the voice chastised her.  _ I will drop your holy warrior next. You want to watch? _

Katherine wanted to shout at him, wanted to scream and then murder him. The prophet’s voice echoed in her head and the prophet himself smiled that terrible toothless grin and cackled at her before turning back towards Reynauld, ready to receive the crusader with his steel whip. Katherine could feel blood oozing out of lacerations on her shoulder, and the pain was nearly unbearable. Something, somewhere, was fractured - that much she could tell.

But she had to get up. She couldn’t tell herself to get up, because the prophet’s words were drowning out her every thought. Teasing her, taunting her, they were hateful and miserable and were almost enough to keep her on the ground, writhing in agony in a pool of someone else’s blood. 

But she had to get up. 

_ I’m not going to die here on the ground,  _ she said to herself.  _ If I’m going to die, let it be by Reynauld’s side. Brother and sister together. _

The prophet had nothing to say to that, as he was too engaged with Reynauld. He whipped his chain out by it soared overhead, coming dangerously close to her, and missed as the crusader attempted to close the distance. He was blocked, but his blade hacked into the wooden stockade girding the prophet’s back. Another few inches farther back and he would’ve cut through skin and sinew with ease. 

That was when Katherine leapt into the fray. She used the last amount of force she could summon to charge forward while the prophet was distracted, raise her mace up, and bring it down against his arm. She hit him right in the crook of the elbow, and could hear the bone within shatter as the heavy iron club impacted his ungirded flesh.

The prophet howled. Not a regular cry of pain, but an animalistic shriek of agony, a cacophony of shrill cries as he lost use of his right arm. His eyes, seemingly his most powerful weapon, dropped out of his greasy and dirt-smeared palm and fell to the floor, rolling away into a pile of useless debris. Katherine could feel the burden on her mind lightening already, as the prophet’s power seemed to wane with such a critical blow. 

Reynauld took no time in driving his sword through the madman’s chest. The blade pierced his side, just beneath the heart, punching through muscle and organ with ease. The prophet howled again and stumbled, dealt a serious blow now that his defenses were down, and Katherine saw her opportunity to pounce and finish this off.

_ You’ll never kill my voice! The words will haunt you forever! _

The voice was hollow and distant but there. She intended to silence it forever. With singular purpose, she walked forward, mace raised, and brought it down upon his filthy bald head, splitting the skin and spraying blood over her greaves as she brought the hammer down. 

With a few blows, the prophet became silent for good. 

* * *

 

They didn’t spend long in the abandoned chapel. They counted their dead, took a look at the slain prophet once they were certain that  _ he  _ was dead, and then marched back, their column much smaller.

_ Thirty-three of us turned into monsters. Thirty-three of us dead.  _

Desette had perished in the fray. 

_ Desette...the last time I had seen her, she was trying to salvage the situation… _

Katherine regretted not being at her side, at least to help ease her passing. She had been mortally wounded by a long spear, likely wielded by one of the berserked mercenaries. By the time Katherine had recovered and come to her aid, she was barely conscious and seconds from passing. 

_ And that was it.  _

They hauled as many of the bodies out as they could, but the survivors - thirteen men and women, no more, no less - could only carry so much. For the past hour they had borne the burdens imposed upon them by that wretched creature who infiltrated their brains with foul thoughts, and many could bear no more. Too many were left behind, but that was the nature of things in Tauros.

* * *

 

Nothing molested them on the way back up. They passed scattered bodies - zealots and the faithful women, along with filthy men in rags and tattered clothing - but nothing had survived. If anything had, it had vanished into the darkness from whence it came, no doubt disconcerted over the death of its puppeteer. Even still, a pallor lay over the stonework as they slowly moved back towards the entrance.

The darkness was no longer as suffocating or menacing as it had been before, but all the same it was disconcerting to slowly trudge back through the medieval halls surrounded by nothing but colorless silence. Katherine wished that she had the strength to carry Desette herself, but she had passed that responsibility on to Reynauld, who bore the body on wordlessly. 

* * *

 

When they returned to Tauros, Katherine felt like she was on the verge of expiring. Her arms were bruised and sore, her body was covered in lacerations and impact injuries, and her head was clouded, as though it were stuffed with cotton. She could still feel the lingering effects of her tormentor even though he was deceased, as though he still maintained some grip on her. But his voice had been silenced - permanently, it would seem - and her thoughts were hers and hers alone once more.

A small party of light-hearted and congratulatory town watchmen greeted them as they returned, but their complimentary expressions were not returned by any of the survivors. They had picked up a few more of their previous number on the way back up out of the estate, but still only thirty-one had returned. 

_ Fewer than a quarter of those who went in _ , Katherine noted, wondering if anyone else was still left down there. The terrifying possibility was a real one; men and women, fleeing from certain death and the fray of battle, becoming confused and lost in those harrowing corridors. Katherine decided not to ponder the probability of such a thing any longer, fearing that it would produce nothing but nightmares. 

She turned towards Reynauld, who gave her a heartwarming and reassuring smile, but something inside of her felt empty.

For the first time in weeks, she did not feel fear - only exhaustion. She had faced the living and the dead alike, and only wanted to sleep and recuperate.

_ Recover your strength _ , she thought to herself.  _ The flame cannot waver.  _

She would not let it. 

* * *

 

_ POSTSCRIPT I _

It was an unfortunate turn of events that had killed the gravedigger of Tauros. A brawny and hardworking man of thirty-four years, reported to be one of the finest and most honest men in the county, he had been heading to work when a report came in of a bandit attack on his homestead not far from the town’s walls. Being the fine and honest man he was, he dashed home in the hopes of aiding his father and his hired hands in fending off the assault. By all reports, he fought bravely in the ensuing skirmish, and by all reports he died quickly when a spear was thrust through his throat and out the other side.

Katherine was not particularly well-acquainted with the finer arts of gravedigging, but she did her best. Through the morning and into the early hours of the afternoon, she dug, laboring away and expending her energy on a task she had never expected of herself. When she was done, she felt exhaustion, but also fulfillment.

_ This is how it should be _ . 

Desette’s body had been wrapped up in thick brown cloth, courtesy of a couple of the surviving Brown Sisters who intended to stay in Tauros. That was the least they could have done for the woman who had led them in a crusade to eliminate a true evil. 

_ I hope this is enough. I hope you can rest easy now.  _

Katherine rolled the body into the depression she had dug and then filled it back in, in spite of the protests of her muscles. By supper time, her labor was done and she had made her peace.

_ Death is nothing to fear. Death is simply an inevitability. Make the most of what comes before.  _

* * *

 

_ POSTSCRIPT II _

Reynauld noticed Emilia’s sour mood the moment he stepped into the room. Regardless, he proceeded as planned, greeting her and giving her an amicable nod in hopes of receiving the same treatment. She returned the gesture but it was cold and rigid. 

“Apologies for my lateness,” he said, shutting the new archive door behind him. After last month’s escapades in the keep’s antiquated library - which, he was constantly reminded, was his own doing - Emilia had taken it upon herself to install a new door and lock system to keep out would-be intruders. The new door was made of wrought iron and heavy oak wood, taken from the staunch trees of the weald itself, and the locking system was a complex one designed by a master locksmith from the Hawk’s Nest who had volunteered his services. 

“Kurchev was back today,” Emilia informed him as she pulled several frail old scripts from a leather knapsack and placed them on her study table, opposite the door. “Briefly,” she added.

“Kurchev?”

“Kurchev. Baron Alexander.”

Reynauld remembered now. Gaudy, well-dressed, a highborn man without a pence or a thought for those considered beneath his clean, wholesome blood. Reynauld had always disliked them and their penchant for folly and luxury.

“I remember now.”

“He’s insistent on marriage but I see something darker in him,” she said. “It’s not me he wants.”

“It never is,” Reynauld said. 

“You know what he wants,” Reynauld added.

“I know.”

Emilia clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Reynauld had no choice but to respect that and turn to the business at hand.

“These texts,” she said. “Used to belong to the estate’s serving staff.”

“They could read and write?”

“Some could,” Emilia said. “Instructions. Etiquette directions. And...maps.”

Emilia pulled out one of the aged slips of vellum and unraveled it in front of Reynauld, showing a limited-scale map of what appeared to be a lower level of the estate.

“You’ve been here before, I think,” Emilia informed him. “Not too long ago.”

“I’m sorry, should I be familiar?”

“Take a look.”

Reynauld studied it momentarily. Only one section of the map looked remotely familiar, and that was a large room in the shape of a chapel - nave, transept, and chancel all together.

“We’ve been there, haven’t we?”

“If your reports are correct, that is where you ventured last week,” she said.

“Lost a lot of men down there.”

“And didn’t poke around enough, I believe,” Emilia said. “I sent another expedition down there two days ago.”

“Yes, with Dismas and Alasdair?” Reynauld said.

“They found something hidden in the back of the chancel. A hidden passageway. A clever disguise.”

“Where does it lead?”

Emilia shrugged. 

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” she told him. “What did my grandfather bury beneath the very stones of his own castle?”

* * *

 

_ POSTSCRIPT III _

They arrived at the break of dawn on the 16th of the month, as a cool wind swept in from the northern sea and brought with it the stench of dessication from the weald along the coast. The guards rushed to notify the baroness but they did not move to stop the column, perhaps four-hundred strong, of gray and white-cloaked men, silent and pensive, from marching through the town’s gates and making their way to the keep. 

The reticent regiment, moving with purpose along the worn cobblestones towards the imposing form of the keep on the southern side of town, bore no banners or flags alongside them. They marched with ragged clothes and crude weapons - flails and battle forks, spears and simple implements - and spoke to no one as they went.

Very few people saw them march by, either. A few farmers on their way back from the granary watched them march past, stopping to admire the sheer numbers moving past them. The guards, of course, saw them too, watching cautiously as the strangers moved in without violence.

Katherine Adelbard saw them, too. As she watched from one of the upper windows of the keep, seeing the winding snake of brown and gray shuffling towards the keep, her stomach dropped and her mouth became dry as she realized who they were.

_ The Desecrated Men. _

_ Where blood has been shed, they will show up to add to it. _

Her stomach churning, she turned and departed, unable to bear watching them any longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. This is the end of the 3rd part in this ongoing series, which I never really planned on expanding beyond the first two parts. Well, I have a 4th and 5th part all written out, surprise surprise. The thing is, I'm kind of disappointed in how "Words" turned out. It was quite ponderous, the writing was not my best, and the character development was limited even towards the end. I planned the entire thing out, start to finish, but it did not quite end up according to plan. Therefore, while I intend to come out with future parts, I'm going to be doing some serious review of my writing and make some rewrites, which will take a few weeks' time. I will be publishing again after that.
> 
> Feedback is, as always, very welcome.


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